Number Nine
by Elf Eye
Summary: The shared 'nine' birthmark draws Legolas after Gandalf and into danger (elfling tale in Nameless One series).
1. Chapter 1

**Folks, this is a new elfling tale. I do have another chapter of "Things Fall Apart" prepared. It is being beta'd and will be posted shortly.**

**Vocabulary**

**Fuchs—'Fox' (German)**

**Grausam—'Unkind' (German)**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_**

**Number Nine: Chapter 1**

'One', Anomen carefully wrote.

'Two'.

"Three'.

Anomen sighed. Erestor looked up and frowned.

"Anomen, if you would put as much energy into writing as you do into sighing, you would soon be finished with this task."

"But then you'd only assign him another," Elrohir pointed out impishly.

"Elrohir," said Erestor tartly, "you seem to have a surfeit of energy, concerning yourself as you do with the progress of your fellow student. Perhaps I should assign _you_ an additional task."

Elrohir hastily bent his head over his own parchment, and Erestor came to stand by Anomen and look over his script.

"Very good," he said approvingly. "For all your sighing, you are doing a neat job with your lettering."

"May I stop, then?" Anomen asked hopefully.

"No. I said you were doing a neat job. I did not say you were doing a superb job."

As always, Erestor's standards were very exacting.

"Master Erestor," Elladan said timidly, "I don't mean to be impertinent, but why must we spend so much time perfecting our writing?"

"Anything worth doing is worth doing perfectly," said Erestor serenely.

"But, Master Erestor," said Anomen, "what if it is not necessary that a task be done with excruciating attention to detail?"

"Oh, and can you think of a case where this would be so?"

"Let us say that you are chopping wood for a fire," argued Anomen. "Because the sticks are only to be burned, it is not necessary that each stick be exactly the same length as each other. You must merely make sure that each stick is of a suitable length for the size of the fire. There now!" said the elfling triumphantly.

"Tell me, Anomen, when you determine how carefully a stick must be cut, you are considering how best to use your time and energy, is that not so?"

"Yes, Master Erestor."

"It would be foolish to make an effort to cut sticks to a precise length when such precision is not required by the situation."

"Of course, Master Erestor," Anomen replied, puzzled. That was his point exactly; whatever could Erestor mean by embracing it?

"So, Anomen, what are you paying attention to when you decide not to devote your energy into precisely measuring sticks that are to be burned? Are you not paying attention to the _details_ of the situation, one detail being whether you are required to invest time and energy in establishing exactitude of length, given the purpose for which the wood is intended?"

The elflings exchanged baffled glances. Erestor's argument appeared paradoxical yet irrefutable. One had to pay attention to the specific nature of a task in order to determine the level of precision requisite to the task. And that meant paying attention to details. It was thus necessary to be precise even when one was being imprecise! Ai!

The elflings worked in silence for awhile. At last Anomen worked up the courage to return to the argument.

"Master Erestor, sticks that vary somewhat in length serve their purpose if they are intended for a fire and their length is suitable for that particular fire."

"So we have agreed, Anomen."

"The purpose of such sticks is to furnish us with the means for creating light and warmth."

"True."

"What is the purpose of the alphabet, Master Erestor?"

"The alphabet allows us to represent words in written form so that we may communicate over distance and across time one with another."

"The letters of the alphabet can be written in different sizes, can they not, Master Erestor?"

"Yes, the script of a missive written on a smallish piece of parchment may be smaller than the lettering on the pages of a history found within a massive folio."

"But if the sizes were to be mixed," said Anomen, "some letters large, others small, the text would still be understandable, is that not so? One could still communicate over distance and across time!"

Erestor worked hard to suppress a smile. Anomen was a clever little elfling, and even though the tutor valued firmness, he could not but appreciate the young one's effort to argue his way out of the tedious handwriting exercise.

"Tell me, Anomen, are all Elves of equal height?"

"No, they vary somewhat—although none be as short as is a Dwarf!"

"We are speaking of Elves only, Anomen. So, we agreed that the Eldar vary in height."

"Yes, Master," Anomen said cautiously, wondering what trap was being set for him.

"Would we fault a captain if he led into battle a patrol consisting of Elves of various heights?"

"No, for each Elf would still serve his purpose, even if he were a little taller or shorter than his fellows. Besides, differences in height arise naturally, and the captain has no power over them. He cannot order his warriors to shrink; neither can he command them to grow!"

"True. But what would we say of a captain who was responsible for a cavalry patrol and yet furnished only half his warriors with horses so that some had to run into battle whilst others rode?"

"There are many things that could be said of such a captain. One might say that he was heedless or thoughtless or ill-prepared. One might even call him foolish."

"So we judge folk by actions that are within their power and expect them to make good use of their resources."

"Yes, Master Erestor," replied Anomen resignedly. Even a Troll could have seen the direction that this argument was taking.

"And such actions may include the careful marshaling of resources according to the situation at hand."

Anomen gave a sigh as heartfelt as the one he had uttered at the outset of this tale.

"I suppose, Master Erestor, you are going to say that it would be a poor writer who mingled large and small letters within the limited space allowed for a brief message."

"It seems I do not need to say that, as you have already done so. But there is another matter to be considered in this case. If a person proves to be careful under one set of circumstances, do we not tend to assume that he will be careful under other circumstances? In other words, do we not extend our trust to that person?"

"Yes, Master Erestor. I know that Glorfindel has lately allowed me much more freedom on the training fields because I have proved myself to be reliable in the past."

"That's _Lord_ Glorfindel to you," Erestor said sharply. He was as particular about decorum as he was about handwriting. "Now, let us imagine that you have sent a letter with which you hope to persuade a king to enter into trade negotiations. Let us suppose that in many small ways your missive is composed carelessly—in grammar, perhaps, and in spelling and handwriting. Would you blame the recipient if he wondered whether someone who was careless in minor matters could be trusted in weightier ones?"

"But, Master Erestor," interjected Elladan, "very often our father sends missives that have been copied out by a scribe. He couldn't be blamed if _those_ letters were composed carelessly."

"Oh, yes, he would indeed be to blame," Erestor asserted. You father is responsible for selecting and supervising his servants. If he countenanced sloppiness and negligence on their part, it would not say much for his own shrewdness and sagacity."

The elflings nodded. What Erestor said made sense. Young as they were, they were aware that on many occasions it was necessary to make a good impression in order to win allies. There were many ways to do so—through speech and behavior, even through grooming and apparel. Why should not one's missives be another way of establishing one's credibility and authority? They returned to their task with a little less reluctance, now that they understood its necessity, and in due course Erestor was able to release them from their morning lesson, with words of praise for each and every one, but especially Anomen.

"Anomen, I do believe it would be fair to say that you have done a superb job on that final page—particularly the lettering for the word 'nine'. Very elegantly done."

Such praise of course awoke Elrohir's jealousy, which was, after all, never more than napping.

"It's easy for him to write the word for 'nine'," he scoffed, "because his forearm is marred by that birthmark that looks like that very word. He is always staring at it—bothers him, I shouldn't doubt, that he is marked so."

Erestor frowned, partly because he was troubled by Elrohir's pettiness, but partly because it always disturbed him to be reminded of Anomen's birthmark. He knew something that the elflings did not: Gandalf had the identical birthmark, although on his shoulder rather than his forearm. From the first time Erestor had seen Gandalf in one of the bathing chambers, he had noticed the wizard's birthmark. For centuries it had seemed a mere curiosity. Then Anomen had arrived, and one day in the library, when he had reached for a quill, the sleeve of his tunic had gaped enough for Erestor to see the strange sign on the elfling's forearm.

"What's that?" the tutor had said sharply.

"What is what, Master Erestor?" Anomen asked.

"That mark on your arm? Is it a scar? A burn?"

"I have had it for as long as I can remember," Anomen had replied. "My Edwen Nana told me that it was a birthmark."

"Let me see it," Erestor demanded.

Slowly Anomen pushed up his sleeve. He was taken aback by the tutor's peremptory tone. To make matters worse, Elrohir and Elladan were both staring at him curiously. They had of course seen the birthmark whenever they had had occasion to change or bathe, but they had thought nothing of it—until now. Erestor's interest kindled their own.

"By the Valar," Erestor said under his breath.

"What is the matter?" Anomen asked nervously.

"Curious, most curious. That birthmark bears a remarkable resemblance to the word for 'nine'.

"Yes, I have been told that before," Anomen said. "Is that so very bad?"

"I do not know," Erestor said softly. Then he hastened to assume a nonchalant manner. "Probably nothing," he said briskly. "A quirk of nature."

But Erestor did not believe that for a minute. What were the odds, he wondered, that two individuals would be thrown together, both marked by the elven word for 'nine'? For it was Gandalf who had found Anomen and brought him to Rivendell. "Of all the elflings in all of the forests in all of Middle-earth," mused Erestor, "he encounters that one. Why?"

Whenever Erestor caught sight of either Anomen's or Gandalf's birthmark, he wondered anew at what the shared mark might mean. And it never failed to disconcert him.

Partly he was bothered because to him the mark was a visible sign of the closeness between wizard and elfling, for the tutor envied a little the bond that the two so obviously shared. Erestor believed that he, in his incarnation of strict schoolmaster, would never be afforded the same affection that Anomen felt for the wizard, who had a genial side that he freely shared with the elfling. When Gandalf would unexpectedly appear in Rivendell, Anomen would fling himself into his arms and squeeze until the Maia would utter a half-laughing 'oooph!' Whilst Gandalf sat in the Hall of Fire, conversing with Elrond, Anomen would climb into his lap and lean back comfortably against him, tucking his head under the wizard's beard and not infrequently falling asleep so that he had to be carried to bed at the conclusion of the evening. No elfling had ever fallen asleep in Erestor's lap, and, of course, the tutor had no beard for a young one to shelter under.

But Erestor's wistful envy of the love between wizard and elfling was only part of the reason that he was troubled by the shared birthmark. Of greater importance was his fear for the safety of the youngling. Gandalf was always a little vague about the reasons for his presence in Middle-earth (although he probably was more forthcoming with Elrond and Celeborn than with Erestor). One thing was clear, however: whatever had brought the wizard to Arda, it caused him to put himself in danger over and over again. Whenever Gandalf reappeared in Rivendell after a long absence, it always seemed as if he would have new sword rents in his cloak or another arrow hole in his peaked hat. Not uncommonly, Elrond was called upon to use his skill as a healer in treating the wizard's bruises, scrapes, and cuts. After observing this phenomenon repeatedly over the centuries, Erestor had decided that any Elf who cast his lot with Gandalf was likely to be in peril of life and limb. As a result, Erestor sometimes wished that Anomen would have as little to do with Gandalf as possible because he feared the Istar would draw the elfling into whatever perils he himself faced. "Not an appropriate role model," the tutor would bluster to himself on those occasions. "Not an appropriate role model _at all_!"

The day after Erestor and the elflings had conversed about the need for precision and attention to detail, the tutor decided that Anomen ought to read a tale about Sauron. "Not all Maiar are good," he said darkly as he handed the elfling the tome. "Read this, and then compose an essay in which you explain why an Elf should be very careful about trusting a Maia."

Anomen dutifully sat upon his stool and began to study his text, but Erestor would have been disappointed had he realized that the elfling saw no connection between the Maia described in the pages of the book and his very own Istar. To Anomen, the day's assignment was a mere exercise, as were so many of the tasks set him by Erestor.

As Anomen came to the end of the narrative and picked up his quill to write his commentary, the wizard whom Erestor would have warned him against was toiling his way through a harsh landscape far to the south. Mithrandir was making for Minas Morgul, to spy out the doings of Sauron's minions. At the moment, however, he was fearful that some of those minions were spying _him_ out. He was quite certain that he was being followed, although by whom he was not sure. He had spied shadows flitting in the woods behind him and had several times heard branches crack under someone's foot other than his own.

"Trackers with no allegiance to Sauron, perhaps," he muttered to himself, "but perhaps not. Why would they follow me—I am not likely to improve their hunting as I tromp through these woods!"

The wizard had been traveling through the trees that grew near the edge of a plateau. At the base of the plateau was a plain that afforded little shelter. Normally, Gandalf kept to the cover, but in this case he decided it would be better to forgo it.

"If I descend the escarpment and ventured onto the plain," he said to himself, "I would be easily seen—but so would anyone who tried to follow me. They would have to give over tracking me, or show themselves. Either way, I believe my situation would be improved, either by shaking my pursuers or ascertaining who they may be."

He left the shelter of the trees and stood at the edge of a cliff, looking for a way down. He thought he saw several possible routes and stepped forward. Unfortunately, the trackers must have discerned his intention, and they moved to thwart him. Gandalf heard a 'thwang' and a whir, but before he could react, he was struck by an arrow and staggered a little to one side.

The shaft had hit him in the shoulder—neatly slicing into the center of his birthmark, in fact—and Gandalf lost his grip on his staff. It fell over the edge of the escarpment and landed far below in a clump of bushes.

"I'm in for it now," Gandalf muttered. Since the arrow had struck him in his sword arm, he knew he was quite defenseless. Quickly he unbuckled his sword belt and sent it and his sword after the staff. "Now I'm just an old beggar," he said to himself. Clutching his shoulder, he waited for his assailants to reach him.

In Rivendell, meanwhile, Anomen was in the middle of writing his composition when he gave a sudden cry and clutched at the birthmark on his forearm.

"Whatever is the matter!?" exclaimed Erestor sharply.

"My arm, it hurts, it hurts dreadfully!"

"Let me see."

Anomen pushed up the sleeve of his tunic, and Erestor carefully examined his arm. He saw nothing, unless it be that the skin around the elfling's birthmark was reddened.

"I see no injury, Anomen. Is this another one of your tricks to get out of completing today's task?"

"That's not fair," Elladan interjected. "Anomen doesn't play tricks to get out of his work. Elrohir's the one who does that."

Elrohir scowled at his twin, but of course Elladan was speaking the truth, and the tutor knew it.

"Be that as it may," he said impatiently, "there is nothing wrong with Anomen's arm and so he must finish the morning's lesson."

But Anomen had turned paler than ever Galadriel was.

"Mithrandir needs help!" he exclaimed.

Elladan and Elrohir stared at him as if he were talking nonsense, and Erestor tried to put on the same expression, although given his knowledge of the elfling and wizard's shared birthmark, it was difficult for him to do so.

"Anomen," asked a bewildered Elladan, "whatever does Mithrandir have to do with anything? One minute you are complaining about your arm; the next you are babbling that Mithrandir is in danger."

"I don't know—I can't explain it—but there _is_ something wrong, and Mithrandir's mixed up in it."

"Anomen," said Elrohir smugly, "_I_ am descended from the Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien. Perhaps someday I shall have visions of what transpires in distant places, but I don't see how it is possible that _you_ should!"

"You believe me, don't you?" Anomen appealed to Erestor.

The tutor did in fact believe him, but he was fearful of saying so, lest the elfling run off into danger. And so, to his lasting shame, he lied.

"What utter nonsense, Anomen," he said brusquely. "Attend to your task, and speak no more of this matter!"

Anomen miserably bent his head over his parchment, but his tears watered the ink.

By now Gandalf's assailants had caught up with him. To the wizard's relief, they were not Orcs but two Men. It is true that they were rough-looking, but Gandalf, given his druthers, always preferred ruffians over goblins.

"It's just an old fool doddering about," snarled the first Man to reach him. "Whatever are we bothering with him for?"

"Thought I saw a sword on 'im," replied his fellow. This one, perhaps a little cleverer than the other, stepped to the verge of the cliff and peered down suspiciously. Fortunately, the bushes served to conceal both the staff and the sword.

"Well, you were wrong," said the first. "Here, you, I want m'arrow back." This latter was addressed to Gandalf.

"You are welcome to it," Gandalf replied, "although I pray that you remove it with care. As you have said, I am naught but an old fool. I beg you not to hurt me. 'Tis ill luck to hurt an old fool."

"That's a saying I've never heard before," said the more suspicious of the two.

"Ah, that is because you are young. When you are as old as I am, you will have heard a great many sayings with which you are at present unacquainted. Ow!"

The first Man, in spite of Gandalf's plea, had yanked out the arrow with little ceremony and less care. Gandalf winced.

"I wonder if I might trouble you to tear a strip of cloth from my cloak and bind it around my shoulder."

"Now why would I do that?" said the owner of the arrow.

"So that I don't bleed to death."

"And what if you do? That's nothing to me."

"Hold a minute, Grausam," said the suspicious Man to his companion. "He may be worth something."

"Him!? I think not, Fuchs. Look at how raggedy he's dressed. His kin wouldn't pay no ransom. Probably think good riddance to another mouth to feed."

The two Men eyed Gandalf up and down.

"You know," said Fuchs thoughtfully, "if it warn't that he has no staff, I'd swear he was a wizard. That pointy hat o' his, that really puts me in mind of a conjurer what visited our village last winter."

Here Gandalf devoutly wished that he had sent the hat after the staff and the sword.

"Huh," scoffed Grausam, "were he a wizard, he'd a' put a spell on us by now."

"Not with no staff he wouldn't," retorted Fuchs. "Now, grandfather"—this to Gandalf, of course—"can you give us a reason not to cut your throat?"

"You would have to take the trouble to clean your knife afterward," Gandalf promptly replied.

"Ho ho," chortled Fuchs, "you're a funny one, in't you?"

"As your friend has said, I am a fool."

"Oh, let's just leave 'im be," said Grausam impatiently. "Let the wolves deal with 'im."

But Fuchs was looking at Gandalf with a crafty expression upon his face.

"Now what would you be doing out here, grandfather?"

"Lost my way."

"Where were you headed?"

"Pelargir."

"You're considerably to the north of Pelargir. Aye, and a bit to the east as well."

"Ah, thank you for telling me so. Now, when I resume my journey, I shall know how to direct my steps."

"When we spotted you, we thought you was a spy," said Fuchs.

"Really? I'm rather old for a spy, though."

"One would think so," said Fuchs. "On the other hand," he speculated, looking more and more cunning with every minute, "it may be an old Man would make an excellent spy because nobody'd _expect_ an old Man to be a spy. An excellent disguise, don't you think?"

"Oh, I don't think much," said Gandalf, starting to feel a little desperate. If he were a spy—which of course he _was_—the only land he could be spying on in these parts would be Mordor. If these ruffians were in the employ of the Dark Forces, and if they were thinking of handing him over to their captain, the outcome might be a nasty and unpleasant one.

"Now, if you're not a spy," Fuchs ruminated, "and we let you go, why, we can't be faulted. But if you're not a spy, and we turn you in, we also won't be faulted. If you _are_ a spy, and we turn you in, why, we will surely not be faulted. On the other hand, if you're a spy, and we let you go, we may be in peril of our heads."

"Oh ho," said Grausam wisely, "so what you are saying is that we can't go wrong if we turn 'im in, but we could go wrong if we _don't_."

"Exactly."

Having arrived at this bit of wisdom, the ruffians now proceeded to bandage Gandalf's shoulder because a prisoner who has bled to death cannot be questioned. This would reduce a prisoner's worth considerably, and as a consequence, the reward for his capture. Once they had bandaged their prisoner, the Men pulled him to his feet, tightly tied his hands in front of him, and began to lead him further east—toward Mordor.

In Rivendell, Anomen was now flexing his hands, for he had the most disconcerting feeling that the circulation to them had been cut off.

"Master Erestor," he whimpered, "my hands are so stiff and numb that I cannot hold my quill anymore."

"Ah, so now it's your hands that hurt," said Erestor, forcing himself to speak with a coldness that he did not feel.

"Oh, but my arm aches as well. It's a throbbing pain now, not a sharp one, but it still pains me dreadfully."

"Anomen," said Erestor, speaking as heartlessly as he could, "if you do not leave off this whining, not only will I make you finish your lesson, but I will make you sit on that stool until you have copied the alphabet one thousand times over. I do not want to hear another word on this subject."

Anomen fell silent, but Erestor knew that he had not pushed the matter from his mind. Repeatedly the elfling rubbed and clawed at his arm, and it was obvious that he was suffering a great deal of discomfort. Erestor, however, steeled himself to be pitiless and sent only stern looks the elfling's way.

At dinner that night, Anomen had no appetite. He pushed his food about his plate, but scarcely took a bite. Concerned, Elrond inquired as to what was the matter. Anomen swiftly glanced at Erestor, who pantomimed writing upon a scroll. 'If I say anything', Anomen thought sadly to himself, 'Elrond likely won't believe me anyway, and I'll just find myself copying the alphabet one thousand times'. Given how badly his arm hurt, that was a daunting prospect.

"Nothing is the matter," the elfling said softly. "I am weary, is all."

Elrond did not press him, as he knew it was unlikely to do any good. If Anomen had resolved not to talk about something, the elf-lord would simply have to wait for a more opportune moment at which to raise the subject.

Anomen went to bed at the first opportunity, but he was still awake when he was joined in the chamber by Elladan and Elrohir. He pretended to be asleep, however, and as soon as he thought that the twins had drifted into dreams, he quietly arose and dressed. If no one was going to help Gandalf, then he would attend to the matter himself. He knew he would be punished upon his return, but the penalty would be laid down by Elrond rather than Erestor, and Anomen thought he could abide any task set him by his foster-father much better than one assigned him by the tutor. And so out the window and down the trellis he scrambled.

It was only partially true, though, that the twins were asleep. Elladan was indeed dreaming, but Elrohir was not, and he saw Anomen go out the window. Now, Elrohir was of course jealous of his foster-brother, and he briefly thought about raising the alarm at once and thus thwarting whatever adventure Anomen had planned. For all Elrohir's jealousy of Anomen, however, they were both elflings, and both adhered to the elfling code. Among the articles of said code: one elfling does not betray another elfling by tattling on him (or 'orcing', as they called it). It is true that Elrohir had on occasion violated this sacred trust, but in the main he adhered to it. So, after a moment's indecision, he decided to remain quiet. 'He'll get into plenty of trouble without any help from me', he said to himself, trying to convince himself that he was not holding his tongue out of any fondness for Anomen. Poor Elrohir! He could never be as nasty as he wished to be!

Creeping quietly through the garden, Anomen eluded all late-night visitors to that place (including several pairs of Elves in compromising positions) and safely made it over the wall, the gate being inconveniently guarded. The placing of this guard was an innovation lately decreed by Elrond, who was becoming vexed at the number of elfling escapes that had lately taken place.

The next morning, Elrond surveyed the table as he entered the dining Hall to break fast. Arwen. Elladan. Elrohir. No Anomen. Given Anomen's peculiar behavior at dinner the preceding night, Elrond was not altogether surprised, but he sighed nonetheless and began the interrogations. Elrond had learned that if Anomen did not show up for breakfast, it was best to immediately make inquiries as to his whereabouts. It must be said that he had purchased this knowledge at some cost.

"Elladan, Elrohir, where is your brother?"

"Not here," replied Elrohir.

Elrond was not prone to using sarcasm with his children, but in this case he could not forbear.

"Thank you for that helpful observation, Elrohir. Now where _is_ he?"

"He is not in our chamber," said Elladan.

"Could you be more precise," asked Elrond, trying to keep his eyebrows under control.

"He is not in the Hall," said Elrohir.

'Better and better', thought Elrond. Aloud, he said, "That leaves a lot of places in Middle-earth where he may _not_ be. Pray continue."

"I think," said Elladan, "that he is probably not in Imladris."

"Do you happen to know where he _is_?"

"No, Ada," chorused the twins simultaneously.

"He has gone after Mithrandir," Erestor suddenly declared.

"Nonsense!" said Glorfindel. "Mithrandir is leagues away, and, as usual, no one knows where he has gotten himself to. Anomen wouldn't have the first idea where to start looking for him. Anomen can be impulsive, but surely he wouldn't be so foolish as to run away in search of a wizard who could be anywhere in Middle-earth. Why, for all we know, Mithrandir is reconnoitering Minas Morgul itself."

"Yes," said Erestor desperately. "That is what I am afraid of! Because if he is, that is where Anomen will make for."

"But he wouldn't _know_ to make for Minas Morgul," said Glorfindel impatiently.

"Oh, yes, he would!" insisted Erestor, who was growing frantic.

"Erestor," said Elrond gently, "why are you so sure that Anomen has gone after Mithrandir?"

"His arm has been paining him dreadfully. He has nearly rubbed it raw."

Elrond and Glorfindel both stared at Erestor as if he had taken leave of his senses.

"I mean," Erestor amended, "his birthmark has been paining him dreadfully."

"Ah," said Elrond, the truth dawning upon him. "The birthmark that looks like the word 'nine'?

"Yes!"

"What of it?" asked Glorfindel, still not comprehending. "That sort of discomfort can be treated with an ointment. It would hardly give an elfling a reason to run off."

Ignoring Glorfindel, Elrond continued.

"So you think, Erestor, that Anomen has sensed that Mithrandir is in danger, perhaps injured. But why would he not come to one of us and express his fears so that we might act upon them?"

Erestor bowed his head. He did not want to meet Elrond's eye.

"I belittled his belief that Mithrandir was in danger and threatened him with punishment if he spoke of it again."

"You-threatened-_Anomen_," growled Glorfindel, who was now looking very threatening himself. "You-_threatened_-Anomen."

"And why not?" retorted Erestor defensively. "_You_ threaten him often enough. You are always saying to him 'I shall skin you' or 'I shall have your head'. At least _I _only threatened to make him copy out the alphabet one thousand times."

"This is not helping matters," Elrond interrupted. "Let me see if I understand you aright, Erestor. You prevented Anomen from speaking of his fears to a grown-up. What was your reasoning?"

"I did not want him to get hurt."

"Would you kindly explain to me how speaking to a grown-up would have imperiled the young one?"

Erestor, who prided himself upon his mastery of logic, suddenly came to a full realization of just how illogical he had been. His goal had been to safeguard the elfling, yet by preventing Elrond and Glorfindel from getting involved, he had all but guaranteed that Anomen would run off into danger. Only by encouraging Anomen to speak could the tutor have kept him safe in Rivendell, for then the elfling could have been reassured that the grown-ups would do something on Gandalf's behalf.

"I am a fool," he said bitterly. "I am a fool, and I have sent Anomen to his death."

"Matters have not yet reached so dire a pass," said Elrond. "He was present at dinner last night. He cannot have gone far. Glorfindel—"

"I shall set out with a patrol within the hour."

Glorfindel of course had had much practice in quickly marshalling his forces in order to set out in pursuit of Anomen.

"I shall skin him," he muttered as he left the chamber.

Had the situation been less serious, Erestor would have triumphantly exclaimed, 'See! There you go again—threatening the lad'. As it was, however, he was too miserable to pay attention to Glorfindel's parting words. He was so miserable, in fact, that he waved Elrohir and Elladan away when they arrived at the library for lessons. One would have thought that those young ones at least would have been happy, but it was such an astonishing development, that Erestor should give over lessons, that both Elrohir and Elladan were suddenly seized with fear for their foster-brother. And so they crept quietly away to the garden and whiled away the day playing gently with Arwen, who needed to be entertained because she had somehow imbibed the fear felt by her brothers. Thus it was that a pall settled over all of Rivendell.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Terreis:_**** I'd been having a lot of fun with the 'birthmark'. I'm so glad the actors decided to get that shared tattoo. Yes, Elrohir is basically a good elfling—just a very jealous one on occasion!**

**_Werq:_**** Giving people a fright seems to be a specialty of Anomen. Hmm, intriguing list you've come up with of characters who deserve payback for giving Legolas himself a fright: Haldir, Merry and Pippin, and Aragorn. I'll have to keep those names in mind.**

**_Hobbit Killer:_ You have an interesting way of signing your review: "Peace, Hobbit Killer." Um, a trifle discordant, wouldn't you say? Anyway, thank you so much for your review, especially for your comments on Erestor, the 'forgotten Elf', so to speak.**

**_Kel:_**** True, this time not only Elrohir but Erestor suffer from a bit of jealousy. Yes, as I mentioned above to Terreis, I've been having a lot of fun with the 'birthmark'. It is threaded into several stories now.**

**_Katlyn_****: Well, if Anomen finds Mithrandir _too_ quickly, then the story will be all over. You wouldn't want that, would you?**

**_Legosgurl_****: Of**** course, to give Erestor some credit, he didn't _intend_ to be mean. He was just trying to protect Anomen, although his efforts obviously backfired in a big way.**

**_Joee_****: I suppose the youth of every culture frown on "orcing."**

**_Dragonfly:_ I'm glad to see _somebody_ is willing to cheer up Erestor. Tough, dirty job, and all that.**

**_Karri:_ Ah hah, you have hit upon an unfortunate truth: I could allow Anomen to finally learn for once and all that he ought not to run off, but where would be the fun in that? It's sort of like the paradox that it is more interesting to read (and to write) about wicked characters than good ones. A Captain Jack Sparrow will surely lead a more interesting life than a Captain James Norrington!**

**_Andi_****_-Black:_ Yes, for once in his life Anomen whines (at least in Erestor's opinion). However, you must admit that he whines for a very good cause.**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly  
_  
Vocabulary**

**Iôn—Son**

**Pen—Somebody**

**Penion—Son of Somebody**

**Síahennas—Here and There (Sí ah ennas)**

**Number Nine: Chapter 2**

Once Anomen had slipped over the wall, he stood irresolute for several minutes. He had no idea where Gandalf had gone. How in Middle-earth was he to find the wizard? Suddenly he felt a spasm in his arm and clutched at his birthmark. When he recovered, he had an inspiration. He took several steps to the north. The pain in his arm lessened. He took several steps to the east. The pain also lessened, as it did likewise when he moved to the west. He took a deep breath and strode toward the south. The pain worsened.

"Very well, then," he said with determination, "I shall head toward the south."

Off he doggedly marched, even though every step he took meant that his birthmark ached more than it ever had before. "I am sure," he said to himself hopefully, "that it can only worsen to a certain extent—after all, something at its worst cannot get worser!" No doubt Erestor would have been proud of his logic, if not his grammar.

In spite of the pain he suffered, the elfling did not forget for a minute that he would be pursued as soon as Elrond realized he'd run off. 'If the scouts catch me', he said to himself, 'then there will be no one to rescue Mithrandir. I must make sure to cover my tracks'. He was quite skilled at doing so, of course, and, even though Glorfindel, as promised, quickly had scouts beating the bushes round about Rivendell, it soon became apparent that they would not be able to pick up the elfling's trail anywhere in the vicinity of the Hall itself. Glorfindel returned to the Hall to consult with Elrond.

"Are you sure Mithrandir said nothing about where he was headed?"

"Quite sure, Glorfindel."

The balrog-slayer paced back and forth.

"He could have made for the west, heading toward the land of the Periannath. He could have gone over the Misty Mountains, making for Lothlórien and from there, perhaps, Mirkwood. He could have crossed into Rohan via the Gap of Rohan, or perchance turned aside to Isengard. On the other hand, mayhap he is journeying to Gondor, or—another land to the south."

"It is that latter prospect that concerns me the most," said Elrond quietly.

Glorfindel nodded.

"I as well, and for that reason I will send trackers in all directions, but I myself shall head south with the greater number of my scouts."

"I think that would be wise, Glorfindel. My heart tells me that Mithrandir has indeed gone that way and that Anomen follows."

Glorfindel's picked scouts prepared for a lengthy journey, and early the next morning the company rode out through the gates of Rivendell.

Anomen, meanwhile, had taken advantage of a full moon to steadily march toward the south. When the sun arose, he decided, sensibly enough, that it was time to take shelter. 'It will be easy for them to check each and every hollow tree that they come upon', he said to himself. 'I shall have to hide in the tree tops'. Because his arm ached him so, he did not relish ascending into the canopy, but he had no choice. In a very unelvenly fashion, slowly and laboriously, he climbed up high enough so that he would not be visible from the ground, settled himself in a tree crotch, and dozed off.

Several hours later, Glorfindel and his scouts rode near. As Anomen had expected, the scouts were checking hollow trees and logs. Glorfindel, however, rode with his eyes fixed upon the branches above him. He was well acquainted with Anomen's penchant for taking to the trees.

In his nest, Anomen was dozing lightly and awoke as the company passed underneath. Wisely, he refrained from peering down through the branches, or it is likely the sharp-eyed balrog-slayer would have spotted him. The elfling knew it was an elven company, however, both from the jingling of the silver bells that the horses wore on their headstalls and from the snatches of Sindarin that reached him in his hiding place.

After the company had passed, Anomen climbed down from his refuge.

'As they are heading south, I should follow hard on their heels for the time being', he said to himself. 'If I stay in the vicinity of a company of armed Elves, I shall be much safer than if I were entirely on my own. I will follow them at least until I have passed through Dunland. The Dunlendings will keep a respectful distance, I am sure!'

Anomen had been fearful at the thought of journeying through Dunland, for he had had several bad experiences with the inhabitants of that land. Now it seemed to him that the Elves who had been sent out in search of him were instead clearing a path for him. His spirits rose, and he grew cheerful in spite of the pain that he still suffered.

Throughout the day, Anomen marched in the wake of the elven troop. Glorfindel grew increasingly impressed at how well Anomen was covering his tracks, not realizing that they could find no sign of the elfling because they were in fact preceding him on his journey.

As the sun set, Glorfindel called the company to a halt. He had no wish to journey at night, even by moonlight, because he feared that they might pass by some trace of the elfling.

As the Elves made camp, Anomen set about making himself comfortable for the night. He no longer had to worry that he would be discovered if he took shelter within a tree trunk, as long as he chose one to the north of the company, so he crawled into a particularly capacious hollow oak, whose center was well-carpeted with the soft detritus of long-fallen wood.

Anomen slept well, but not so deeply that he was unable to rouse himself well before dawn. When he had fled Rivendell, he was of course not carrying any provisions. He had been foraging as he journeyed, but now he planned to take advantage of the stores carried by the Elves. Quietly, he slipped amongst the horses, who, being well-acquainted with him, made no noise that would have alerted the sentries. Thus, from their midst, he was able to creep right up to the edge of the camp. With a stick, he hooked a slab of smoked meat that had been left over from the previous night's meal. Then he crept back to his oak, where he ate a few bites of the meat before wrapping the remainder in leaves and stuffing it into his tunic. It would serve for the rest of the day and perhaps even part of the next one.

Anxious to make the most of daylight, the scouts broke camp at sunrise. Throughout the day, Anomen trailed after them, from time to time nibbling on the strip of purloined meat. Were it not for his arm and his fears for Gandalf, he would have been a very contented elfling. He was free of all lessons, the weather was fine, and this was arguably an adventure. But his arm _did_ hurt, and he was sure—although he did not know how—that Gandalf was in danger.

At about this time, this wizard and his two captors were nearing the borders of Mordor. The Men had forced Gandalf to march forward steadily toward the east, toward the Mountains of Shadow, the Ephel Dúath, but they had not harmed him in any other way. They had given him food and water and changed the dressing on his shoulder when necessary. Gandalf knew, however, that this tolerably humane treatment would be dispensed with once he was turned over to their captain. In Mordor, folk did not rise to positions of authority by virtue of their kind behavior toward prisoners—or toward anyone else, for that matter.

The Mountains of Shadow drew nearer and nearer. 'They must plan to cross into Mordor through Cirith Ungol, the Pass of Deep Shadow', Gandalf thought to himself. 'Hope we don't encounter any of the descendants of Ungoliant. Those spiders make Mirkwood arachnids look positively gentle'. Gandalf could not suppress a shudder at the thought of encountering one of those eight-legged beasts. On earlier visits to Mordor, he had had a few near encounters with these arachnids whilst slipping through the tunnel that served as their lair. Of course, it was unlikely that his captors planned to enter Mordor through the spiders' warren. After all, they had no need for secrecy. Obviously in the employ of the Dark Lord, they no doubt intended to stroll up openly to the base of the Tower of Cirith Ungol, there to announce themselves to the Orcs who were garrisoned in that place.

At last Gandalf saw the Tower arising in the distance, and he shuddered anew at the thought of what awaited him. He was a Maia, true, but he was a Maia in the body of a Man, with all the vulnerabilities that would result from such an incarnation. He could feel hunger and thirst and cold—and pain. Oh, yes, he could feel pain, as he had already discovered on more than one occasion.

His guards marched him past the dreadful gargoyles that guarded the gates to the compound. Ahead loomed the tower. At its base lounged several Orcs, picking their teeth after a meal of horse.

"Well, lookee 'ere, boys," cackled one, spitting a fragment of equine cartilage at Gandalf's feet. "Fresh meat!"

"Good," snarled another. "That nag 'uz too stringy."

"Don' look like this 'un 'ill be any better," another gloomily observed. "Skinny 'n' old. Now a Dwarf—that 'ud be something like!"

A chorus of approval arose, then the Orcs, having indulged their peculiar brand of humor, waved Gandalf and his guards on and resumed gnawing upon the bones and hooves of the unfortunate horse.

Once inside, Gandalf and the two ruffians were led by a shuffling, muttering subaltern through crumbling passageways strewn with filth. All about them were the disfigured remnants of the sculptured ornaments of what had once been an elegant yet powerful Gondorian fortification. Heads and hands had been hacked from statues, and crudely-lettered vulgarisms were scrawled on the surviving torsos. At last the small company arrived at a door above whose lintel was affixed the dried and decaying head of an Orc, perchance one who had in some way offended the Captain. The ruffians pushed Gandalf before them into the room beyond, where sat the hugest, ugliest Orc the wizard had ever seen—a fairly remarkably fact, given his familiarity with that breed.

Like the guards without the Tower, the Captain had just finished dining, if you could call it that, and for a Goblin he was in a relatively good temper.

"Well, well," he chortled, "what's this—me after-dinner entertainment?"

His subaltern gave a sort of giggling snort, and gestured at the two ruffians to come forward.

"We found this vagabond loiterin' to the west," reported Fuchs, "just over the border from Gondor. Thought it suspicious that anyone should venture there, so we thought we'd best bring 'im in for questionin'."

"Armed an' dangerous, eh?" said the Captain.

Fuchs looked a little embarrassed.

"Not armed," he said, "but mayhap dangerous nonetheless. Looks a bit like a wizard, wouldn' you say?"

"No, I _wouldn't_ say," replied the Captain, looking bored now. "Where's his staff?"

"Didn' have no staff," replied Fuchs. "But lookit 'is pointy 'at."

"Pointy hat," scoffed the Captain. "Whoever heard of a wizard wielding his power through his hat? What's he supposed to do—send out flashes of fire through its tip? Still," he yawned, "now he's here, I suppose I might as well interrogate him. Here, you," he said, turning toward Gandalf, "what's yer name?"

"Iôn Penion," replied Gandalf. "Iôn son of Pen."

"Pen? Never heard of him. Who is he?"

"Oh, just Somebody," said Gandalf. "Nobody in particular, really."

"And you, are you anybody in particular?"

"No, just Somebody's Son."

"Where do you live?

"Oh, Síahennas."

"Síahennas? Never heard of it."

"Not surprising. It's nowhere in particular."

"Next I suppose you'll tell me that you don't do anything in particular."

"True. I lack fixed employment, wandering as I do from place to place."

The Captain yawned so widely that the corners of his jaws could be heard to crack.

"How tiresome," he complained to the two ruffians. "You've brought me somebody's son who doesn't dwell anywhere or do anything in particular. And I suppose you expect to be rewarded?"

"We was only doing our duty," whined Fuchs, beginning to grovel a bit.

"Yes, yes," said the Captain dismissively. "Well, I suppose he might be good for a bit of entertainment some night when there is nothing else to do. Here." The Captain tossed a few pieces of silver at the feet of the ruffians. "Lock him in the top of the Tower. And next time be sure to bring me something more interesting or I won't be as generous—or so forgiving."

The ruffians grinned and bowed obsequiously, but no sooner had they backed out of the Captain's chamber than they began to grumble.

"All that effort, and only a few coins," complained Grausam, glaring at Gandalf as if it were his fault—which, in a way, I suppose it was.

"Yes," hissed Fuchs through clenched teeth. "Move on there, you carcass," he snarled, shoving Gandalf forward so hard that the wizard almost fell. Pushing and pulling the wizard, the ruffians dragged him to the staircase that wound from the base of the Tower all the way to the top and forced him to ascend the seemingly endless flights of steps. The higher they climbed, the angrier Grausam and Fuchs grew. By the time they had reached the top of the Tower, the two Men were filled with spite and fury.

The last stage of the Tower had to be reached by climbing a ladder that extended up to a trap door. Once through the opening, Gandalf found himself in a dingy, dusty room. Quickly he surveyed the place. Narrow windows he could never fit through. No loose boards lying about that could be transformed into weapons. He returned his attention to his captors.

"What say we 'ave a bit of fun before we leave?" suggested Grausam, balling his hands into fists and eyeing Gandalf.

Fuchs shook his head gloomily.

"It'd only be fair if we took out our fee on his hide, but if the Captain caught wind of it, we'd be in trouble. He wants him kept for entertainment, and he don't mean _our_ entertainment, neither. If we was to ruin his fun, doubtless he'd entertain himself on _us_. But I will risk one blow, I think."

With that, Fuchs stepped forward, fist raised. Gandalf threw up his good arm to protect his face, but that wasn't Fuchs' target. As hard as he could, the ruffian struck Gandalf on his injured shoulder. With a gasp, Gandalf collapsed onto the floor. Looking satisfied, Fuchs descended the ladder, followed by an equally smug Grausam, who pulled the trapdoor to behind him. Scarce able to breath for pain, Gandalf remained huddled upon the floor.

Far away in Dunland, Anomen clutched at his arm as his legs gave way. Trembling in the leaf litter, his eyes filled with tears, the elfling gasped for air. It seemed as if the last breath had been knocked from his lungs and that he was incapable of drawing a fresh one. A grey pall slowly drew over the world, and the sounds of birds grew muted and distant.

Oblivious to the elfling's plight, Glorfindel and his scouts rode on, still in hopes of finding signs of Anomen somewhere to the south of them. But behind them, Anomen's world grew darker and darker, until at last he lay insensible.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Blessing of Earendil:_ Uh oh, I'm destroying your mouse! Author's Disclaimer: The author hereby declares, announces, and publishes that she will not be responsible or liable for any or all damage, deterioration, destruction, or dissolution of or to any cyber rodent or computer creature, or any appurtenances thereunto, including, but not limited to, wires, plugs, chips, bits, and bytes, regardless of whether said damage, deterioration, destruction, or dissolution occurs, has occurred, or is occurring in the course of the reading or perusal of any story, tale, narrative, or account composed, created, or written by the aforesaid author. Any reader who undertakes to read or peruse one of the said stories, tales, narratives, or accounts does so at his or her own risk, in full awareness that such reading or perusal may lead to irreversible loss, harm, or injury for which no compensation, reimbursement, or reparation will be proffered or forthcoming. (The above statement was prepared by the Law Firm of Huey Louis Dewey Cheatham and Howe!)**

**_Dragonfly:_ Hmm. It may be premature to say that _nothing_ good could come out of the situation.**

**_Legosgurl:_ Oh, great! I'm destroying _Blessing of Earendil's_ mouse, and I'm making you late for work. I'm a menace to the cyber community! Agent Smith and Agent Smith and Agent Smith will be appearing any day now to drag me off to the Matrix.**

**_Tara_**** Aaaaargh! OK, so let's list the damage. I'm destroying _Blessing of Earendil's_ mouse, I'm making _Legosgurl_ late for work, and I've made you crabby by depriving you of sleep. What's that sound? Oh, noooo, it's Agent Smith. Help me, Neo! Help me! Seriously, thank you for your review. I'm glad that you have so far found the series to be interesting, and I hope it continues to entertain you.**

**_Pegasus:_ In various stories I've so far managed to work in 'birthmarks' for the following characters: Legolas, Aragorn, Gandalf, and Gimli. I overlooked a chance to mention the birthmark in a story in which Frodo figures slightly, but either I will go back and revise that story or I'll find some way to mention it in a future story. About Glorfindel: He won't be in this chapter, but he'll be in either the next one or the one after that.**

**_Terreis:_ Yes, the cagy way Gandalf handled the conversation with the Captain would have impressed even the enigmatic Galadriel. Glad I was able to make you laugh early in the morning. Given the damage I'm doing to everybody else (see above!) it's good to hear from a satisfied customer, he he! Oh no, I spoke too soon! Don't you dare send me any psychiatric bills! I'll have to post another Author's Disclaimer, this time to forestall any claims for damage to mental health. Yes, Anomen is indeed a 'sly little thing', although some would say he is 'too clever by half', given how much trouble he gets into. I'll try to give a 'meanwhile back at the ranch' glance at Erestor in an upcoming chapter. I should show Elrond, too.**

**_Joee:_ How about 'yes' and 'yes'? He is going to wake up and continue his journey, but, then, too, someone is going to find him. After all, the two events are not mutually exclusive.**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly._**

**Vocabulary**

**Ælfgar—'Elf Spear' (Old English) **

**Ælfgifu—'Elf Gift' (Old English)**

**Ælfhild—'Elf Hero' (Old English)**

**Ælfred—'Elf Wisdom' (Old English) **

**Ælfric—'Elf Leader' (Old English) **

**Ælfrith—'Elf Peace' (Old English)**

**Ælfsig—'Elf Victory' (Old English)**

**Ælfstan—'Elf Stone' (Old English)**

**Ælfswith—'Elf Strength' (Old English)**

**Ælfthryth—'Elf Strength' ****(Old English)**

**Ælfwen—'Elf Hope' (Old English)**

**Ælfwyn—'Elf Friend' (Old English)**

**Leofwine—'Dear Friend' (Old English)**

**Modthryth—Soul Strength (Old English)**

**Symkin—name of miller in Geoffrey Chaucer's "Reeve's Tale" (Middle English)**

**Waerburh—'Wary Protector' (Old English)**

**Number Nine: Chapter 3**

When Anomen regained consciousness, it was dark, and the temperature had dropped. Still, even if he had not been an Elf, he would not have been cold, for, in addition to his own garments, a strange cloak covered him. It was most assuredly not an elven cloak. It was made of some coarse fabric, crudely woven, and it smelled of wood smoke and pigs. Slowly, Anomen raised his head and looked about. A few feet from him sat a small human female, legs crossed, solemnly staring at him. For several minutes the two young ones cautiously studied one another. The human spoke first, using the Common Speech.

"You are a stranger," she said, her voice wary.

Anomen replied in the same tongue, but with his voice carefully neutral.

"You are a stranger as well—to me."

The human considered this, a surprised expression upon her face.

"I suppose," she said slowly, "that there be truth in what you say. You are a stranger to me, and I am a stranger to you." Then she became animated as she was struck by a sudden idea.

"If I tell you my name," she said triumphantly, "then _I_ won't be a stranger no more!"

"True," agreed Anomen.

"Then my name is Waerburh! There now!"

"And my name is Anomen," said the elfling quickly. "So I am no stranger, neither!"

"Yet you are not from hereabouts," challenged the human, a trifle crestfallen.

"No," conceded Anomen, "I am not, but I have passed through this land before, on my way to my home."

"Where do you live?"

"Up north," said Anomen vaguely.

"Up north? There be fearsome folk to the north. They live in mounds and come out to dance once a year—but if they trap you in one o' their mounds, when _you_ come out a twelve-month later, ye'll have aged one hundred years and all yer kin'll be dead. Be you one o' them?"

"Do I look I look like a leprechaun!?" Anomen demanded indignantly.

The child looked him over carefully.

"No-o," she said at last. "I suppose you don't. Happens they're green, or so I've been told. But mayhap you be one o' those folk what sprinkle decent folk with magic dust and so bewitch 'em."

"I despise dust," Anomen said haughtily. "I won't touch the stuff. Anyway, I'm no pixie. They're very tiny, like butterflies or hummingbirds, and they have wings."

Now Anomen had of course never seen a pixie—or a leprechaun, either, for that matter—because, unlike Elves, such creatures are entirely imaginary. He had, however, read all about them in the tales of Men that he was so fond of perusing. Thus the exactitude of his description.

"Be you a faerie, then? Do you dance at midnight midst the mushroom rings?"

This was only marginally better than being mistaken for a pixie. Anomen replied with strained dignity.

"I am most certainly _not_ a faerie. And," he added hastily, "I'm not a gnome, neither!"

"But you _are_ from up north?"

"Yes." Anomen decided to gamble all. "I am from Rivendell, and I am an Elf."

To his relief, the child did not become frightened.

"An Elf," she said calmly. "Let me see your ears."

Anomen drew back his hood to reveal his ears, and Waerburh nodded, satisfied.

"So you _are_ an Elf. Most folk hereabouts say Elves be wicked, but my Ma and Da calls 'em the Fair Folk. I met one upon a time."

"Did you?" Anomen said eagerly. "Tell me the tale."

"'Twas when one o' my brothers fell out of a tree and broke his leg. He is littler than me, and I tried to carry him home, him wailing the while. Hadn't carried him very far afore I realized that, little as he was, I warn't much bigger. Told him I'd go for help, but he clung to me and begged me not to leave 'im. I was tryin' to peel his fingers from me wrist when a tall fellow stepped out from behind a tree. Had his hood up, he did, so I didn't know he was an Elf. But even if I'd 'a known, I think I was too fearful to 'a _been_ fearful, if you catch my drift."

"I do," said Anomen. "Go on."

"My brother quieted when he saw the fellow, and he set my brother's leg and carried him to the cottage. The fellow didn't want to go inside, but my Ma and Da insisted. They was grateful and eager to show it. But he kept his hood up the while, until my Da said, 'Master Elf, you needn't hide yerself. I know you to be one o' the Fair Folk. My boy here hain't never been so quiet and calm-like. Only an elvish wight could have soothed him so'. And after my father spoke, the fellow did push back his hood, and we could all see his ears. Pointed they was, like yours. But his hair was of a different color than yours be. Dark it was, and his eyes, too. And he had dancing eyebrows!"

"Dancing eyebrows?"

"Aye. They darted all about his face and near all the way up to his hairline!"

Anomen shouted in merriment.

"Lord Elrond! Surely that must have been Lord Elrond! He has such eyebrows, and even amongst the Elves he is accounted a notable healer. Hearing your brother cry, he could not forbear lending him aid."

"Lord Elrond," repeated Waerburh, her tone no longer wary but wondering. "A lord visited our cottage. Imagine that!" She arose to her feet, and her manner became all briskness.

"You look poorly, and my Ma and Da will be glad to repay the kindness of your Lord Elrond by sheltering and feeding you this night. My cottage is not far from here. Can you walk, do you think?"

Anomen staggered to his feet.

"If you will lend me your shoulder, I will make do."

Leaning on the girl, who, although slight, proved to be strong, Anomen was able to move tolerably well. His arm still throbbed, but he no longer felt faint—only somewhat weak and weary. They drew near a modest cottage. Near it stood several small outbuildings. Before the dwelling a horse was tethered. Waerburh frowned and stayed Anomen from going further.

"You had best not come in after all. Yonder is the horse of Symkin the miller, a stout churl, brawny and big of bone. He is always on the lookout for chances to show off his strength, and at the Harvest Fair he always enters the wrestling contest—aye, and wins it, too! No one would mind if that was the sum of his fighting, but he is famous for brawling any chance he gets. He has a mouth as big as a cauldron, and with that huge hole of his he is always telling vulgar stories and whipping up trouble—or trying to. Everyone tries to avoid fighting with him because it is said he could knock a door off its hinges or break it with his head without hardly trying. My Da says Symkin's just a bully and could be taken on if folk would band together to defend themselves, but so far no one's dared. People do think that he has a gold thumb, but they are afeared to challenge him."

"A gold thumb?"

"Aye. They think he is a cheat, weighing his scales falsely and charging folk thrice what he ought. But they can't prove that he's stealing grain because no one has actually caught him at it. It's suspicioned only—although many are the folk who think that it do be the case."

Amazed, Anomen exclaimed, "Can nothing good be said of this miller?"

"Well," said Waerburh thoughtfully, "Symkin _is_ a rare bagpipe player. Folk do like to hear him play at gatherings. But," she added vehemently, "that is the only good thing I have ever heard tell of him!"

Anomen shook his head, wondering what it must be like to live amongst folk who had to put up under such ill behavior. Why did the humans tolerate the miller's violence and thievery?

"I am sorry you cannot come with me to the cottage," Waerburh was saying, "but Symkin would be sure to pick on you, for you are small and a stranger in this land, with no kin to take your part. But go you into that shed, and I'll contrive to bring out somewhat for you to supp upon."

The shed was small but well-built. At least it would provide protection from the wind, which was beginning to pick up. Anomen found some empty sacks, and in the corner mounded up some hay and spread out the sacks. He was grateful for these arrangements, simple as they were, for he had slept in much worse places.

When Waerburh reappeared, she was accompanied by a woman.

"Here be my Ma," the young human announced.

"Welcome, Master Elf," said the women. "I am Modthryth, and as Waerburh has said, I am her mother." Modthryth's manner was kind, and for a moment Anomen thought longingly of his Edwen Nana.

"One of your folk did us a good turn," the woman continued. "I would have you come inside but that nuisance of a miller looks to be settled in for the near term _and_ the long! Probably won't leave until he's passing certain that there's no beer left for him to drink."

Waerburh drew a basket from underneath her cloak, and her mother drew out a blanket from underneath hers.

"Waerburh has put up some food for you, and I have brought you a blanket. You will be comfortable in this shed, I hope. If the miller has gone in the morning, you are welcome to come in and break fast with us. If not, be sure that we shall bring you some food nonetheless."

The Dunlending woman and child bade Anomen good night, and he uncovered the basket. The food was simple but tasty, although the portions were small. This latter, he suspected, reflected a state of poverty and not a lack of generosity, and he felt a little guilty as he dined until he remembered that it was more likely that the miller's voracious appetite would be a cause of hardship than his own small one.

After finishing the contents of the basket, Anomen wrapped himself in both his cloak and the Dunlending blanket and laid himself down upon the mounded-up hay. Soon he was asleep—but his rest was swiftly interrupted by a loud voice and raucous laughter. The miller was taking his leave, and so loudly that Anomen thought the Man would be heard all the way to the border of Rivendell. Braying a vulgar song loudly and off-key, the miller at last rode off to the south. Anomen drew the cloak and blanket more tightly around himself and began to drift back into dreams.

A small sound pulled him back. Soft footsteps were approaching from the north. Instantly, Anomen knew that that the miller had left his horse and returned on foot, circling about so that he could creep up on the shed from behind without having to pass the cottage.

Shrinking into the corner, the elfling pulled the blanket over his head, leaving a small gap so that he could peek out. He heard the latch being drawn back quietly. The door slowly opened, and a large Man stole in.

In the moonlight that shone in through the open door, the elfling studied the miller. The Dunlending was indeed powerfully built, a stocky fellow with broad, muscular shoulders. Anomen could see that he had red hair and a red beard. He had a wide nose, with yawning nostrils, and on the tip of his nose was a wart from which sprang a tuft of hairs that put Anomen in mind of a boar's bristles. The Man went to center of the shed, knelt down, and pulled up a board that lay there. Anomen heard the clink of metal.

'Waerburh's Nana and Ada have hidden their hard-won wealth in this shed', the elfling thought, dismayed. 'The miller has found out somehow and means to steal their small trove'.

Anomen peered about the shed. A spade was leaning against a wall. The miller's back was to the elfling, and, moving with the stealth that was native to the Fair Folk, he slipped out from under his coverings and crept over to the tool. Grasping it tightly, he tiptoed behind the miller, who was mumbling and muttering.

"Not as much as I'd hoped," the Man was complaining, "but it will have to do."

His grumbling was cut short by a blow to the head. He slumped forward unto the ground, face down. Quickly Anomen slipped out of the shed. Up to the door of the cottage he went and knocked. After a few moments, he heard someone moving about within. The bolt was drawn back, and a Man peered out cautiously. He gripped a cudgel with both hands.

"Ah," he said, lowering the cudgel when he spied Anomen, "you must be the Elf. Is the shed not to your liking, then? Well, the cottage is not much better, but you are welcome to enter, now the miller's gone."

"He isn't gone, Uncle," Anomen replied. "He returned and crept into the shed. He pulled up a board and drew out a bundle. It held some objects of metal, for I heard a clinking noise."

The Man gave a cry of dismay.

"Waerburh's dowry. He has reived us of Waerburh's dowry."

"He hasn't neither," Anomen quickly reassured the human. "He didn't see me, hiding as I was in the corner, and so I came up behind him and struck him with a spade. You'll find him in the shed still—aye, and the bundle, too."

The Man flung wide the door.

"Come inside and warm yourself at the hearth, Master Elf, whilst me and my sons see to the entertainment of the miller."

The Man roused his two eldest sons, and the three, furnished with both grim expressions and cudgels, marched out to the shed. Sitting safe by the fire, Anomen heard angry shouting and then, after a while, silence. Looking immensely pleased, the Man and his sons shortly thereafter marched back into the cottage and tossed their cudgels into a corner. The father carried not one but two bundles with him, the second one appearing to be a wallet.

The humans seated themselves around a trestle table and invited Anomen to join them as they hoisted celebratory cups. Anomen did so, although he forbore tasting the beer, politely asking for water instead. The Woman, who was now awake, gladly fetched him some, especially when she heard what her husband had to say.

"Wife, said the Man, "it seems that the Fair Folk bring us nothing but good fortune. Not only has the young master here saved Waerburh's dowry, thanks to him her prospects have in fact been enlarged. When the miller saw that he was well and truly caught, he proffered his wallet in order to escape the beating he deserved. For all his bravado, he was not about to stand up to three foes armed with cudgels."

The Man opened the wallet and poured its contents upon the table. His sons and wife gasped at the sight of not only copper coins but silver ones. Indeed, there was even one enormous gold coin, which shone in the firelight as brightly as any sun that had ever arisen over that cottage. The wife roused Waerburh so that she could marvel at their good fortune.

"Waerburh," her father said grandly, "marry whom you will. When our wealth becomes known, ye'll have suitors aplenty."

Waerburh was impressed, but only a little. She was, after all, still a child, and marriage for her was several years in the future. Her mother also was not as ebullient as the Man.

"Leofwine," she warned, "when our wealth becomes known, it is more than likely that the robbers will arrive before the suitors."

The room fell silent. These were hardworking folk, and they had several times managed to put aside a little something against the future. Each time they had done so, their cottage had been raided, which is why they had resorted to hiding their latest winnings in the shed—they had hoped that, as in the past, it would be the cottage that would be targeted. Now they knew that there was nowhere that they could hide their wealth where it would not be vulnerable to theft.

Anomen it was who broke the silence.

"Uncle," he said, "as I have journeyed through Dunland, I have noticed that in many places the soil is poor and ill-suited for farming."

"True," Leofwine said sadly. "Men have farmed here for ages, and not always wisely. The soil has been robbed of its richness. Perhaps it could be restored, but times are so hard, that no one wishes to gamble one season's harvest against the hope of better harvests in the future."

"To the north of Imladris," said Anomen, "is a vast, empty land. It is called the Northern Waste, but only because it was emptied in the wake of ancient wars. It was once a settled and fruitful place, for parts of it are well-watered and fertile. The only folk who wander there now are Rangers, and they are greedy for neither wealth nor power. I know whereof I speak, for the Rangers are known to the Elves. If you were to settle on a piece of land to the north, the Rangers would not trouble you."

Leofwine looked doubtful.

"Land for the taking, and no one to molest us. That cannot be!"

"But it is true," insisted Anomen. "The land lies empty, free for the taking, because Men have long believed that a shadow lies upon that land. But if there is a shadow, it exists only in the minds of Men who allow themselves to be ruled by superstition. The Rangers do not indulge themselves in such foolish notions, and they know that the land is evil in nothing more than memory."

"Leofwine," urged Modthryth, "I think we should listen to him. Twice now the Fair Folk have been good to us—twice as many times as our own folk have aided us! I do not believe this young Elf would lead us astray."

Leofwine considered.

"We may have no choice but to believe him, Modthryth," he said soberly. "The miller will not dare to demand the return of his wallet, for he knows he has well and truly forfeited it. But he will make sure that all know that we have something worth stealing, both the coins we earned by our labor and the ones he forfeited through his greed. We cannot remain in this place. Yes, we will journey north. I doubt we will fare worse by doing so than we would if we remained here."

"Go first to Rivendell," Anomen said. "Tell them that I sent you and that you have need of a guide to the north. Be sure to say that you wish an introduction to the Dúnedain—the Rangers, I mean."

Leofwine nodded.

"No sense turning in again," he said briskly. "Modthryth, children, let us pack straightaway. The sooner we leave this place, the better."

By moonlight and firelight, and aided by Anomen, the family gathered its modest belongings. Bowls were nested inside cauldrons. Straw was dumped from mattress tickings, into which were crammed quilts and spare garments (the latter a small item). These, along with precious metal tools, were loaded onto a wood-wheeled cart onto which was also tied several geese and a basket of chickens. The cart would be drawn by their one ox. Behind it would be driven their milk cow and their pigs.

By sunrise, the family was ready to set out. It had not taken them long to prepare, for they were by no means burdened by many possessions.

"Will you come with us as far as Rivendell?" Waerburh asked Anomen.

"No, I have an errand to the south. I go to the aid of a friend. But carry a message for me, I pray you. Tell Lord Elrond that I am well."

"But that is not true," Waerburh pointed out. "You hold your arm as if it pains you, and you look poorly."

"Please do not tell the Lord Elrond so," Anomen begged. "I would not have him worried."

Waerburh looked troubled.

"I will do my best not to tell him," she promised, "but I am not yet very good at lying. My Da always keeps me out of sight when he chaffers over our crops, lest by speech or gesture I betray him."

"I do not ask you to lie," Anomen replied. "Merely say no more than what you are asked."

Waerburh brightened.

"Oh, that I can do," she said cheerfully.

Modthryth called to her. It was time to depart. The two young ones took their leave one from the other.

"You and your folk have been kind to us," Waerburh said solemnly to Anomen. "When I have a child"—here she waved vaguely toward a still-unfathomable future—"when I have a child, I shall name her Ælfgifu, and when I have another child, I shall name him Ælfsig."

Waerburh must have kept her promise. In after years, the Bree-landers were known to have traded with humans from a settlement to the north of Rivendell, and on occasion they intermarried with the folk who dwelled there. It was noted that it was the custom of those northerners to give their children names that began with the element 'Ælf'. It was not uncommon for a merchant in Archet to bargain with an Ælfgar or an Ælfred, a smith in Combe to shoe the horse of an Ælfric, or an innkeeper in Staddle to serve beer to an Ælfstan. Bree-landers who traveled to that northern land bargained for cloth and baskets with canny matriarchs who went by such names as Ælfhild, Ælfthryth, and Ælfwen, and Rangers gladly received food and drink from the hands of women called Ælfwyn, Ælfswith, and Ælfrith.

Before leaving, Modthryth had furnished Anomen with a bundle of as much food as could be spared. Now he watched a little wistfully as the family's cart rattled off, the humans walking alongside it, all save the youngest, who perched on a ticking stuffed with blankets and garments. Once the small party had disappeared into the trees, heading toward Rivendell, Anomen resolutely turned his face to the south. His arm still ached, and that could mean only one thing. Gandalf was still in danger.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Karri:_ After I posted Chapter 3, I realized I had left off my response to your review of Chapter 2. So here it is. Unfortunately, Anomen _is_ in for some more pain. It would spoil the suspense, however, if I specified how much, so I won't. Mwah hah hah.**

**_Dragonfly:_ It just so happens that this chapter will show Elrond's reaction!**

**_Blessing of Earendil_: I'm glad you enjoyed the disclaimer! Are you familiar with _Car Talk_, the radio show that features "Click and Clack, the Tappit Brothers"? The name of the 'law firm' came from their 'credits', which I think are meant to be spoofs of similar 'credits' at the end of Garrison Keillor's _Prairie Home Companion_. So I guess you could say I did a spoof of a spoof of a spoof. Spoof. Spoofier. Spoofiest. He he. Ai! I cannot claim to be as clever at problem-solving as Anomen is. I'm sort of in the situation of the person who, well after a conversation, thinks up the lines that she _wishes_ she had said.**

**_Joee_: The story about leprechauns and their mounds, in which time passes at a different rate than in the outside world, is 'true', i.e., is indeed part of traditional lore about leprechauns.**

**_Legosgurl_****: Hope you still have a job! Your sister sounds cute, what with her 'elfikins'. Of course, you have to deal with her on a day-by-day basis, so you may not agree!**

**_Tara_****: If he makes it all the way to Cirith Ungol, he may be in _big_ trouble.**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly._**

**Number Nine: Chapter 4**

Elrond stared bemused at the ragged little band of humans who stood respectfully before him. The Man who led them was carefully explaining how they came to present themselves before the Lord of Imladris.

"And then the little master," the Man was saying, "told us to first go to Rivendell, for we would need a guide, and the lord of that place could furnish one. And he told us to particularly ask for introductions to the Rangers, for it would be needful to stay on good terms with those folk."

The Man paused and looked hopefully at Elrond, whose eyebrows, as Waerburh would have said, had been 'dancing' earlier in the recitation but had now quieted as Elrond put on his impassive face.

"Of course we will aid you," Elrond said calmly. "Anomen spoke truly. There is indeed fertile land to the north that would repay the tilling. The Rangers will not object to your taking possession of it, for they are no farmers. Indeed, doubtless they will be glad to chaffer with you. There may be more than a few Rangers who would welcome the chance to trade for a dish that was not prepared over the spit of a campfire."

"I know how to bake bread," Waerburh interrupted, earning her a disapproving look from her father but a smile from Elrond.

"Bread? Excellent. 'Twould be a rare Ranger indeed who bore an oven on his back, so bread is something they do not taste often. Tell me, can you sew as well?"

"Oh, yes," said Waerburh eagerly. "And I can spin and weave and knit."

"Ah, that is good. When a Ranger has need of a new cloak, he will know to whom he should repair."

Waerburh's face fell.

"I had forgotten, my Lord. Our sheep were stolen not so long ago. 'Twas a small flock, but it gave us enough wool for trade."

Elrond looked grave.

"Stolen? That is too bad. But if, as you say, you can sew, you may be able to remedy your loss. I have need of a new tunic—yes, and new leggings and a new cloak. If you can devise such garments, I will of course pay you for your time. Your father may then journey to Bree-land and with your winnings purchase a new flock."

Leofwine spoke up then, for he was anxious lest they presume on the kindness of the Elves.

"Thank you, my Lord, but we have the wherewithal with which to buy sheep. It is Anomen who has made sure of that."

Elrond's eyebrows sprang back into action. How could the elfling have provided the family with the wealth they would need for a new flock? As far as anyone knew, Anomen had run away with little more than the clothes on his back.

"A thief tried to make off with Waerburh's dowry," Leofwine explained. "Anomen crept up behind him and knocked him on the head with a spade. When the thief awoke, he found himself in the company of me and my eldest boys. He bought his way out of a beating, and so Waerburh's dowry is all the larger!"

"But that wealth is a guarantee against Waerburh's future," replied Elrond. "It would be a pity if you spent it unnecessarily. Let Waerburh use her talent as a seamstress to earn the money for the new flock."

"Thank you, my Lord," said Leofwine gratefully. "If you are sure."

"I am," said Elrond.

"Then I'll not deny that 'twould be good if we could put the money aside."

"Then do so. But now you must allow my servants to lead you to your rooms and provide you with whatever is needful for your comfort."

When the humans had departed the chamber, Erestor rounded on Elrond, his expression one of horror.

"Elrond! Surely you cannot be planning to wear garments stitched by a, a, a—human!"

"I am," Elrond replied calmly.

"Elrond, such clothes would hardly be suitable for one of your stature."

"Do you doubt the child's ability to measure my height?"

"I don't mean _that_ stature, and you know it. I am referring to your status, your authority."

"Erestor, next month a delegation from Rohan will arrive. Don't you think it would be a nice touch if I were to greet them garbed in the garments of Men?"

"Well, if you only mean to wear them in front of Men," Erestor grumbled before stalking off to see to Elladan and Elrohir's morning lessons. When he had left, Elrond leaned back in his chair and sighed as he addressed, Taurmeldir, one of Glorfindel's lieutenants.

"Whatever will Anomen come up with next? Resettling Dunland refugees to the north! Wherever did he get such a notion?"

"Not from me," replied Taurmeldir, "but I would be proud if I could in fact lay claim to the idea. It will be good to have a friendly settlement to the north. It has always troubled Glorfindel that only a few Rangers dwell in that place. Valiant as they are, they could be overrun. If the land were settled more thickly, the risk would be reduced."

Elrond considered.

"I do believe that Glorfindel is right, Taurmeldir."

"Of course he is right," Taurmeldir said with a cheekiness that would have done the balrog-slayer proud, "as he always is when it comes to matters either tactical or strategic."

"Besides," the lieutenant added as he made for the door, "we may be able to procure fresher eggs from such a settlement. The ones from Bree-land must travel too far a distance. That is Glorfindel's opinion, too," he added.

Elrond clapped his hand to his forehead to secure his eyebrows. Ai! His trials that day were not yet over. Later, after the evening meal, he summoned the Dunlendings back to his chamber, for he wished to inquire more closely into Anomen's welfare.

"So the elfling stayed with you but one night?" he said to Leofwine.

"Yes, my Lord. He would have been welcome to remain in our company, but he would not."

"Did he say where he was going?"

"Not to me, but I believe"—here Leofwine turned toward Waerburh—"I believe that he may have told my daughter."

Elrond looked at Waerburh.

"Did he tell you aught of his plans?"

"Yes," Waerburh said simply. Elrond waited for her to say more, but she remained silent. A smile quirked Elrond's lips. He rather thought he knew why the child was so reticent. 'No doubt', he said to himself, 'Anomen has made her promise to say no more than necessary'. Elrond tried again.

"Where did he say he was going?"

"South."

"Did he say _why_ he was going south?"

"Errand."

"Ah, I see. And what was this errand? Precisely, if you please," Elrond added quickly.

"Help a friend."

"Did he mention the name of this friend?"

A triumphant smile spread over Waerburh's face.

"No," she said cheerfully.

Elrond suppressed his own smile in order to pursue his inquiry, but he found it difficult. Behind Elrond Taurmeldir shook silently with laughter. Even Erestor had to suppress a smile.

"When you parted, was he well?"

Waerburh squirmed uncomfortably.

"My Lord, he had had somewhat to eat that morning and the night before, and he had enough food for a few days' more."

"But was he well?" persisted Elrond.

"Could have been better, could have been worse."

Fearful lest her daughter offend the lord with her equivocations, Modthryth decided it was time to speak up.

"My Lord, if I may speak as a mother, I thought he looked poorly. Aye, and he clutched at his arm as if it pained him, but he would not let me tend to it."

"A mother's word in a matter such as this is to be respected," said Elrond gravely. "In what way would you say he looked poorly?"

"He was very pale, even for an Elf, and he had dark rings under his eyes. I deem him to have been worn out either by exhaustion or pain, mayhap both."

Elrond exchanged a worried glance with Elrohir.

"I hope," said the tutor, "that Glorfindel catches up with him quickly. Perchance the scouts follow hard on his heels."

Elrond turned back to the Dunlendings.

"Did a company of Elves pass by heading south soon after the elfling departed your company?"

"No, my Lord," answered Leofwine, "but a company passed by soon before his arrival."

"_Before_ his arrival?" exclaimed Elrond. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, my Lord. They were many, and well armed, so we durst not approach them. But we did trail them until they were well away from our land. They were headed due south. Several hours after their passing, Waerburh encountered the elfling and brought him to our cottage."

Now Elrond and Erestor exchanged bewildered glances. How was it possible that the scouts had journeyed further south than Anomen himself? Glorfindel had taken his best scouts and was a superb tracker in his own right. Yet it would seem that the combined efforts of the balrog-slayer and his scouts had not sufficed.

"That little fellow," observed Erestor with grudging admiration, "is certainly remarkably good at whatever he sets his mind to. It is, of course, a pity that the thing he generally does set his mind to is driving the adults to distraction."

Chagrined, Elrond nodded. After he had dismissed the Dunlendings, however, a sudden thought struck him.

"Hah! We have him now!"

"What?" asked Erestor, puzzled by his outburst.

"Anomen is no doubt aware that Glorfindel is _ahead_ of him. That means that he will not be so careful at covering his tracks. Tomorrow I shall send out another company, and I am sure they will be able to retrieve our elfling in short order by coming up on him from behind. He will not be able to escape, for he shall be trapped between two patrols."

Erestor shook his head doubtfully.

"I think you underestimate his abilities."

"Clever as he is, he is still only an elfling, and, judging from what the Dunlendings have told us, a weak and weary one at that."

At that very moment, this weak and weary elfling was doggedly trudging southward in the wake of Glorfindel and his scouts. He was about to face a decision, however, and a difficult one. After parting from Waerburh and her family, he had hastened to catch up to Glorfindel, still believing as he did that staying in the vicinity of the patrol would help guarantee his safety. Now, in determined pursuit of the elven warriors, he was passing through the Gap of Rohan. It seemed by the signs, however, that Glorfindel had decided to turn north, into Fangorn Forest.

'They must be making for Isengard', Anomen thought. 'They would have no other reason to enter that forest'.

Anomen was right. Having reached the Gap of Rohan without finding any sign of the elfling, a perplexed Glorfindel had given thought as to what he ought to do next.

'Mithrandir visits Isengard from time to time', he mused. 'Perhaps he has gone there. As Anomen is attempting to follow Mithrandir, he could be expected to go to Isengard as well. Even if neither is there, however, perhaps Saruman could advise me. He is reputed to be able to see far. Some say that his gaze extends throughout Middle-earth."

And so the elven patrol was wending its way to Isengard, and Anomen had to decide whether to follow; to await their return and resume trailing them, as he hoped, southward; or to continue on his own without delay. He took several tentative steps north, into Fangorn Forest. The pain in his arm eased. He would be going in the wrong direction. He stopped and considered. Since he would be going in the wrong direction, he would gain nothing by following Glorfindel. At the very least, if he were not to immediately go on alone, he should marshal his strength whilst awaiting the Glorfindel's return. But should he wait in the first place?

'It may very well be', mused Anomen, 'that Glorfindel will in fact turn north after leaving Isengard. Then my wait for him will have been entirely fruitless! But let us assume that he will continue south. All very well and good, but I should still lose much time dallying here. Mithrandir needs help now—I am sure of it!'

Without a moment's more delay, Anomen turned his face to the south and marched off.

At Isengard, Glorfindel was at that moment being ushered into Saruman's throne room. It always troubled the balrog-slayer that Saruman presided in such state—'Mithrandir would never bother with such nonsense!'—but Glorfindel put aside his dislike of pretentiousness in the interest of finding out all that he could about the fate of both Mithrandir and Anomen.

"My Lord," he said respectfully, bowing deeply, "I come in need of such counsel as only the White Wizard could provide."

This sort of stuff, Glorfindel suspected, would be just the thing to win over Saruman and induce him to lend his aid.

Glorfindel had judged rightly. Saruman's eyes glittered as he gazed gloatingly upon the balrog-slayer. Glorfindel, of all Elves, was begging for his assistance. Excellent! With an air of condescension, he gestured for Glorfindel to seat himself upon a chair that a servant brought forward.

"As you doubtless know," he pontificated, "I have always been at pains to assist the Eldar of the realm of Imladris."

Glorfindel did _not_ know anything of the sort, but he wasn't about to say so.

"Pray tell me how I may be of service," Saruman continued loftily.

"It seems that one of our elflings feels a peculiarly strong connection with one of your order, Mithrandir the Grey Pilgrim."

"Ah, has Mithrandir had an unfortunate effect upon the young one? You may be sure that I shall impress upon him the harm he may do to the impressionable."

"I do beg your pardon, Lord Saruman. Far be it from me to suggest that any member of your order would have a harmful effect upon the young. I hope I have not offended."

Lord Saruman's smile, always rather strained, became even more forced.

"I am at a loss to know then, my dear Glorfindel, how I may assist you."

"I have of course not explained myself clearly," said Glorfindel smoothly. "The elfling on occasion feels Mithrandir's moods from afar. He has even been susceptible to the same pains and torments as have been suffered by the Grey Pilgrim."

Saruman was skeptical. How could a mere elfling have established such a link with one of the Istari—a lesser Istar, of course, but, still, one of the Order? He expressed his skepticism in icy tones.

"Strange that _I_ have not felt him. I wonder if the elfling's feelings on this matter are clear."

"They are clear, my Lord."

"And where is this elfling?"

"That is why I have sought your help. Feeling sure that Mithrandir is in peril, he has run off in search of him. We have been unable to pick up his trail. You, however, surely know of the whereabouts and doings of the members of your order. If you could tell us where Mithrandir might be, we will hasten toward him. I suspect that along the way we shall overtake and recover our elfling."

Here Glorfindel had hit upon a sore point. Saruman did _not_ know where Gandalf was—he rarely did. This fact rankled, and always had. The other Istari, deferring to Saruman the White, sent to Orthanc frequent reports of their whereabouts and activities. Gandalf had never seen the necessity for that, and only troubled to account for his doings on those occasions when he saw fit to visit Isengard—which was never often enough to satisfy Saruman's desire to know and control all! It suddenly occurred to Saruman that this elfling, if he could truly sense matters pertaining to Mithrandir, might prove to be a way of at last keeping apprised of the goings and comings of Gandalf the Grey. His 'interest' in helping Glorfindel suddenly soared.

"So the poor little fellow has run off into the wild in search of Mithrandir," he said, adopting a sympathetic tone. "Pray tell, what is the name of the young one?"

"Anomen."

Saruman almost choked on the goblet of wine he had so casually raised to his lips. That brat again? Impossible! Recovering himself as best he could, he professed grave concern.

"Anomen? He has been here before. He is quite a little fellow to be roaming Middle-earth, which, as we know, can be a perilous place. And this is not the first time he has slipped away from Imladris. Really, my dear Glorfindel, I do think he needs a more vigilant caretaker."

Now it was Glorfindel's turn to assume an icy manner.

"No matter how heedful, no guardian can watch his charge at all times."

"Then perhaps," retorted Saruman, "the young one should be removed to a place that is not as easy to slip away from, a place encircled by high walls and whose gates are well guarded."

Glorfindel suddenly very much regretted having sought Saruman's aid, for he imagined he knew the place to which the wizard was alluding. The balrog-slayer arose.

"I am sorry for taking so much of your time, Lord Saruman. If you do hear tell of either Mithrandir or Anomen, would you send word to Lord Elrond?"

"Of course," lied Saruman.

As soon as Glorfindel and his Elves had ridden away from Isengard, Saruman pondered what was best to be done.

'I thought the first time I laid eyes on the brat that he may be useful. If he indeed has a link to that grey gadabout, then he would be far more valuable than I dreamed. Now how to lay my hands upon him? Glorfindel's band is tracking him, but apparently with little success. Still, they will have some reason for traveling in whatever direction they take—to the south, apparently. I will send some Orcs to trail after them. If they retrieve their elfling, then my Orcs will relieve them of the trouble of conveying him all the way back to Imladris'.

Saruman found this notion amusing, and his face contorted into something intended to resemble a smile, albeit it had more in common with a leer. Then he resumed his plotting.

'Although Glorfindel may be concentrating his search to the south, it has not escaped the notice of my spies that Mithrandir chooses to meddle much in the land of the rat-folk. If Anomen does indeed have some sort of tie to Mithrandir, and if Mithrandir is on one of his visits to Shire, then the brat may have followed him. I must therefore be sure to send a force to the north as well, in the event that Glorfindel has misjudged his quarry'.

Having laid his plans, Saruman gave the necessary orders, and, well-pleased with his cleverness, he retired for the night.

As for Anomen, he took advantage of a full moon to trudge on for several more hours. The further south he journeyed, the more he was convinced that Gandalf was in danger, and he grudged every moment that he was required to spend resting or foraging for food. Reader, Glorfindel's patrol will have to move very quickly indeed if they are to have any hope of intercepting the elfling before he arrives at Cirith Ungol.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Dragonfly:_ Considerable chaos will result from Glorfindel having tipped off Saruman as to the fact that Anomen is wandering about in the wild.**

**_Andi_****_-Black:_ If nothing happens to Anomen, then the story wouldn't be very interesting, would it?**

**_Karri:_ Yes, that was bad move on Glorfindel's part, drawing Saruman's attention to Anomen. And, yes, Anomen does indeed have a knack for "finding allies in the least likely of places." It is no wonder that, in the end, Legolas becomes friends with Gimli.**

**_Joee:_**** Well, _I_ don't feel sorry for Saruman. He wouldn't be continually outwitted if he would stop trying to do nasty things.**

**_Legosgurl_****: My little brother used to sleepwalk. One day he walked into a closet. There was a little chair sitting in this closet. Apparently my little brother mistook the setup for the toilet because he whipped out his tiny tool and peed onto the center of the seat of this stool. This closet happened to be in my older brother's room, and was he ever 'pissed'! Aren't siblings wonderful?**

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly.**

**Number Nine: Chapter 5**

The Captain of the Guard at Cirith Ungol yawned widely, his gape revealing his sharp, yellow teeth. "I'm bored," he announced. "Bring me that old fool."

"Which old fool?" said one of his guards stupidly.

"What? How many old fools we got locked up, anyway?"

"One," said the guard. At least this much could be said for him: he could count.

"Well, then, _that_ old fool, you idjit! And be quick about it, afore I decide to amuse myself with a young fool."

"We got some o' those?" said the dim-witted guard.

"At _least_ one," snarled the Captain. "And one too many, seemingly."

Luckily for the stupid guard, he had at that point shambled off to fetch Gandalf. In due course, he returned to the chamber, shoving the wizard before him.

"'Ere 'e is," he announced.

"I kin see that," growled the Captain. "Now lemme think," he muttered, looking around the room. "We got cat'o'nine tails, but that's getting' old. What else we got? Hmmm. Plain leather whips, whips tipped with metal balls, whips tipped with barbs—_that's_ good. There's chains, too, and, oh, I'm forgetin' the flails—good for breakin' bones, they is. Got the rack'n'the wheel in the courtyard, but don' feel like bestirrin' meself. Thumbscrews'll do, I think."

This recitation was making Gandalf feel ill, of course. Fortunately, as Men were wont to say in those days, 'Desperation is the mother of invention'.

"My Lord," he said politely, "I detect a note of ennui in your voice."

"On-_what_?"

"Ennui. World-weariness. Languor. Tedium. In short, boredom."

"Course I'm bored," snarled the Captain. "Whaddya think yer standin' there for? If I've got on-wee, yer the cure."

"I shall strive to do my best to serve you in that capacity," Gandalf assured the Captain. "You seem tired of your usual methods. Perchance I can introduce some novelty into your routine. May I have a coin?"

"A coin?"

"Surely a Captain as powerful as you must have a coin or two lying about."

This obsequiousness was sufficient to prompt the Captain to root about in his pouch and produce a coin. Gandalf tried not to shudder as he touched it. It was very greasy, and the wizard did not want to think what sort of fat might be smeared upon the slug.

Gandalf placed the coin in the palm of his left hand. He turned to the stupid Orc.

"The coin is in my hand without a doubt—true?"

The Orc peered at Gandalf's palm and nodded.

Keeping his hand palm up, Gandalf closed his fingers over the coin.

"It must still be in my hand—isn't that so?"

"I dunno," said the Orc. "I don' see it no more."

Gandalf suppressed a sigh.

"You didn't see it fall from my hand before I made a fist."

"No-oo, can't say I did."

"Then it must still be in my hand."

"But I don' see it."

Gandalf opened his hand, revealing the coin.

"You see it now, don't you?"

"Yep," the Orc said quickly.

Gandalf closed his hand.

"Now you don't see it, but it can't have gone anywhere."

"I s'pose that's right," agreed the Orc.

"Good! Good!"

Gandalf passed his right hand over his closed fist several times and uttered some mumbo-jumbo. Then he opened his hand. The coin was gone.

"Hey," the stupid Orc shouted indignantly, "you wuz just sayin' that the coin 'uz in yer hand, but it hain't. You lied!"

"No! no! no! It _was_ in my hand. I have made it disappear. It's a magician's trick—you must know what I mean! Sleight of hand, conjuring, that sort of thing. Would you like me to make it reappear?"

The Orc nodded.

Gandalf uttered more mumbo-jumbo as he waved his hands over the Orc's head. Then he drew forth the coin from the Orc's ear and handed it to him.

"Hey!" yelled the Orc. "I got coins in me head!"

"Well, it's certain ye don' have any _brains_ in there," growled the Captain. "Gimme back me coin. Is that the best ye kin do, old Man?"

"Oh, no," Gandalf hastily assured him. "I have more tricks up my sleeve. May I have a scarf?"

"A scarf," scoffed the Captain. "Aren't _we_ the gen'lmen! Nex' thing ye'll be wantin' a hankee."

"Actually, a handkerchief would do nicely, if you have such an item about."

"Well, I _don't_," snarled the Captain.

"A bit of rope, then—I only need a foot!"

This the Captain could provide. Gandalf solemnly stuffed the rope into a tankard and closed the lid. More mumbo-jumbo as he waved his hands over it. Then he opened it and began to draw forth the rope—one foot, two feet, three feet, four feet. An entire coil of rope seemed to have materialized within the tankard.

"Say," the Captain said reflectively, "this puts me in mind o' somethin' I did in me younger days."

"Does it?" said Gandalf, delighted to have struck a chord in the memory of the irritable Orc.

"Yep, yep. It were me first battle. Killed quite a few Men, for all it _were_ me first battle—which set me on me path to me present em-in-ence, I might add! After, I wuz lookin' fer a way to pass the time. Settled on drawin' out the guts o' a feller. Turns out they wuz endless! Pulled out one foot an' then another foot an' then another foot. Had no idea guts wuz so stretched out. Quite amusin', really."

The Captain eyed Gandalf speculatively.

"What a fascinating story!" exclaimed the wizard with a great show of calmness. "Perhaps my next trick will inspire additional fond memories. May I have a deck of cards?"

The Captain was in a complacent mood by now and ordered that a pack be brought. The cards were as greasy as the coin had been, but Gandalf had other things to worry about, you may be sure. He handed the deck to the stupid Orc and bade him shuffle it. After the Orc had done so, Gandalf told him to draw a card. The wizard took it and looked at it. Then he told the Orc to put it on top of the deck. The wizard shuffled the deck several times. At last he drew forth a card and handed it to the Orc.

"Isn't that the same card that you first drew?" he said triumphantly.

"I'm sure _I_ don't know," declared the dim-witted guard. "There be a lot o' cards in a deck, in't that so?"

This was too much for the Captain. Seizing his scimitar, which he always kept handy, he casually swiped off the head of the stupid Orc.

"Not a bad morning's entertainment," the Captain chortled. "Awright," he shouted to the other guards, who had been lounging about, picking their teeth and taking in the whole scene with great interest. "Show's over. Take this old fool back up top. Oh, and feed 'im. Might want to keep'im around a few more days. Wouldn't mind seein' that rope trick again."

Given the unfortunate effect said rope trick had had upon the Captain, Gandalf was not anxious to repeat that particular performance. However, relieved merely to have survived his 'audition', the wizard did not think it wise to demur at this point.

While Gandalf had been entertaining the Orcs of Cirith Ungol, two other bands of Orcs had been setting out from Isengard, one heading north, the other south. "You are to capture a golden-haired elfling," Saruman had told the leader of each band. "See that no harm comes to him, and when you have caught him, send me a message straightaway." Once Anomen was in the hands of the Orcs, it was Saruman's plan to send a band of Men to slay the Orcs and 'rescue' Anomen. His Men would then convey a suitably grateful elfling to the safety of Isengard. As for the Orcs, the White Wizard thought nothing of murdering his own servants if it suited his ends. 'After all,' he said to himself, 'Orcs are fifteen a farthing'.

Unbeknownst to Saruman, however, there was another band setting out, but this one from Imladris. In hopes of coming up on Anomen from behind, Taurmeldir was leading a party of Elves south, as Elrond had commanded.

Shortly after Taurmeldir and his scouts had departed, visitors arrived at Rivendell from the east. These were emissaries from Lothlórien, bearing letters from Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. Accompanying them was a very smug Haldir. His brothers Rúmil and Orophin had lately been very naughty, but he, of course, had been very good. As a 'reward', he had been allowed to accompany the messengers. Truth be told, however, Galadriel, who had always been gifted with foresight, expected trouble to break out if Haldir remained in Lórien and continued to lord it over his disgraced siblings. It needed no mirror for her to divine this, for one only had to look at the disgruntled faces of Rúmil and Orophin to know that they would be unable to restrain themselves forever. To forestall mischief, the Lady had dispatched Haldir to Rivendell until such time as tempers might cool. Moreover, she thought Haldir ought to be taken down a peg, and she was quite sure that the hellion twins, Elladan and Elrohir, could manage the task nicely, but with the advantage that Elrond would have to deal with the resulting carnage rather than she or her spouse. Galadriel, it must be confessed, did have a bit of a conniving streak in her. Glorfindel, in a moment of pique, once went so far as to call her 'sneaky'.

When Haldir arrived, Elladan and Elrohir were in the library, being superintended by an irate Erestor. With Anomen absent, the twins had been complaining vociferously that it was not fair that they had to labor at lessons.

"Anomen has taken a holiday," protested Elrohir, "whilst we must pour over these dusty tomes about the fall of Gondolin."

Elladan tossed down his pen.

"And these word problems," he whined. "'A Dwarf has twenty-seven gold nuggets. He melts fourteen and forges them into gold chains. Then he mines another nine. How many gold nuggets does he now have?' I'm sure _I_ don't care!"

"Although," he added reflectively, "I wouldn't mind having the chains."

Erestor rapped his ferrule upon the desk. He was already troubled by guilt over Anomen's having run away, and now, after days of putting up with Elladan and Elrohir's complaints, he was as irritable as a Troll and about to behave in a very uncharacteristic fashion.

"Do you know," he said darkly, "what Men do with rulers?"

"They use them to measure," Elladan said promptly.

"And to draw straight lines," added Elrohir.

"They have another use for them," said Erestor ominously, a very unpleasant expression upon his face. "Elladan, Elrohir, hold out your hands, palms up."

Bemused, the twins did so, and Elrohir smacked their hands with the ruler—and rather smartly, too, I might say. The twins were too astonished to cry and stood gaping. Just at that moment, Elrond entered the room with Haldir at his side. At once he took in the scene. His eyebrows shot up momentarily, but then he put on an impassive face.

"Erestor," he said mildly, "I see that you are teaching a lesson on the customs of Men and engaging in a demonstration of some of their educational practices. Very creative, I must say, and I'm sure that my sons appreciate your departure from the usual cut-and-dried lectures that so many instructors rely upon excessively."

Elladan and Elrohir shot their father an aggrieved look, but Elrond looked back at them with a smile of utmost innocence. They were pleased with what he said next, however.

"I am afraid, Erestor," Elrond continued, "that I shall have to deprive you of your pupils for several days. As you see, Haldir has come to visit, and it is needful that Elladan and Elrohir serve as his host for the time being."

The twins tried to look solemn, and Erestor actually had to stifle a laugh, so happy was he.

"Very well," he said, putting on an air of regret and sighing mightily. "If it cannot be avoided."

"No," replied Elrond, putting on a similar air of regret, "it cannot. Given Elladan and Elrohir's station, they must sometimes perforce take on the responsibility of entertaining guests. In an appropriate fashion," he added hastily, giving the twins a hard look. Elrohir had allowed a grin to spread over his face, and the elfling promptly resumed his solemn expression.

"Well," said Elrond, "now that that is settled, Elladan and Elrohir, please show Haldir to his room and see that he is provided with all that is needful for his comfort."

"Yes, Ada," chorused the twins. Then, as their father turned to leave, they smirked at Haldir, who now looked very unsure of himself. For good measure, as they exited the chamber with their 'guest', Elrohir shot a triumphant look back at Erestor. The tutor, however, was too gleeful to care. He smiled back no less triumphantly, and had the satisfaction of seeing Elrohir look disappointed.

"Taste of his own medicine," the tutor chortled.

It must be said that the twins did indeed make sure that Haldir's room was well appointed. That done, however, they at once fell to scheming.

"Haldir," said Elrohir, "the weather is very fine."

"Yes," agreed Haldir nervously.

"We must do something out of doors," opined Elladan.

"Um, I _suppose_ that would be reasonable," replied Haldir stiffly. Would he be safer, he wondered, indoors or out? Indoors he could be locked in a trunk or tied up in a blanket or stuffed into a basket. Outdoors at least he probably wouldn't be wedged into anything tiny or stifling. More likely they would tie him to a tree. At least he would be able to breathe.

"Alright," he said. "Let's go outside."

They went out into the garden and ran a few footraces. Then they wrestled for awhile. At length, tired, they threw themselves upon the greensward and looked up at the clouds.

"Lord Elrond told me that Anomen is away to the south," Haldir said after a bit. "When will he be back?"

"We don't know," sighed Elladan. "He has run off again, leaving us to deal with Erestor on our own. Rather selfish of him, _I_ think."

"Erestor should whip _him_," Elrohir grumbled. "But when the scouts bring him back, everyone will be so relieved that he'll only be set to polishing armor or peeling potatoes."

"Have the scouts been searching for him long?"

"One patrol has," Elladan said, "but another one has only gone out this morning."

This gave Elrohir the opening he had been waiting for. He sat up excitedly, as if he had just had a sudden idea.

"Let's practice our tracking!" he exclaimed

"On what?" asked Elladan, his face the picture of innocence. In fact, not even Anomen could have done better at carrying off the charade.

"On the scouts. Let us follow their trail."

Haldir looked doubtful.

"Is that wise? Scouts are warriors. It wouldn't do to creep up on warriors."

"We'll only follow them for a bit," promised Elladan. "Oh, let's say—three hours."

"You're not afraid, are you?" Elrohir asked tauntingly. Of course, with that Haldir had no choice but to go along with Elrohir's plan. The elfling code is really no different than the code followed by dwarflings, small humans, and, yes, young halflings (especially the males of all the aforesaid races). Turning down a dare led to loss of face, and Elrohir had, in effect, challenged Haldir with what was clearly a dare.

Once the twins had wrung reluctant agreement out of Haldir, they left him to his own devices for a time—'so we can prepare', said Elladan. Haldir wondered what sort of preparations would be necessary for a brief excursion. To his distress, when Elladan and Elrohir returned, they carried three bows, three quivers, and three rucksacks, each of which was astonishingly heavy, given that they needed to pack nothing more than a lunch. His misgivings great, Haldir trailed miserably after the twins as they passed through the gates of Rivendell and entered the forest beyond.

And thus began the 'three hour tour' that was to become famous in the annals of Imladris.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Terreis:_**** Yeah, I had way too much fun with those magic tricks! "Galadriel? Sneaky? Heaven forbid?" Um, do I detect a _teeny tiny_ hint of sarcasm? Yes, Erestor really stepped out of character for a moment there. Oh, now I'm ROTFLOL at your comment "Yes, I'd say he'd be safer outside. pause I was wrong."**

_Chrys:_ Aaargh! I can't believe I am still typing 'Elrohir' for 'Erestor'! Honestly, sometimes I wish alliteration had never been invented. Anyway, thanks for drawing it to my attention; I have gone ahead and corrected it. Yes, someday I do plan to write a story showing Thranduil's reaction to Legolas going off with the Fellowship. Actually, it may show up as a chapter in "Things Fall Apart" (which I had better get back to before Yarrie sends another lagging-author alert!)

**_Dragonfly:_ Yeah, poor Haldir never gets a break, does he?**

_Legosgurl_: Sick? Oh, you must mean the part about the Orc drawing out the Man's intestines. Yeah, I guess that could be considered kind of sick. Mwah hah hah!

_Joee_: I can't believe I made the same mistake in both Chapter 4 and Chapter 5! But _you_ didn't catch it in Chapter 4: _Chrys_ did! Nyah nah nah nah nuh! Yep, you're right: 'three hour tour' comes straight from "Gilligan's Island," which is what _I_ watched when I was a kid. (O.K., now everyone can figure out how old I am.)

_VickiTurner_: Oh, yes, the "three hour tour" will be plenty long!  
  
**Beta Reader: Dragonfly.**

**Number Nine: Chapter 6**

In the end, Saruman was mistaken in his assumption that Glorfindel and his scouts would continue heading south. It is true that when they first left Isengard, they did indeed travel in that direction, until they reached the point at which they had entered Fangorn Forest. But as they journeyed, Glorfindel reflected upon the events of the past several days. When the elven company emerged from the forest and stood on the edge of the Gap of Rohan, Glorfindel ordered the scouts to make camp, while he continued to ponder his choices. Restlessly he paced back and forth, at last coming to stand by a sentry. There he stood scanning the horizon.

"Since leaving Imladris," he murmured, "we have not found any trace of the young one. I begin to think that I was wrong, that he did not in fact head south."

"Shall we turn back, my Lord," asked the sentry.

Glorfindel shook his head.

"Not back, but we will change direction. Our stop at Isengard proved fruitless, for it appears that Saruman, for all his reputation as the all-seeing White Wizard, knows naught of either Mithrandir or Anomen. As we have learned nothing there, we will go on to Lothlórien. It may be that the Lady Galadriel will be able to assist us. Perhaps she has seen something in her mirror."

And thus, as Anomen continued marching steadily southward, Glorfindel and his Elves turned to the northeast, making for the land of Lórien. Shortly after they did so, the band of Orcs that Saruman had dispatched to follow them came to the spot where they had turned aside. Even the stupidest of the Orcs could see that the Elves were no longer traveling south. Here was a quandary! Saruman had told them to follow the Elves, but he had also ordered them to head south. They couldn't do both. Which command trumped the other?

"We could send a missive to the Master—ask 'im what we should do, like," opined one of the Orcs.

"We could," said the leader gloomily, "but who'ud be willin' t'carry it, I wants ter know?"

The leader had hit upon what was in fact the 'fatal objection' to his subaltern's suggestion. Saruman had an unfortunate habit of ordering the execution of servants who brought him bad news. The Orcs eyed one another uneasily. After several awkward minutes, no one had volunteered, and the captain began to consider other options.

'The pointy-ears 'ave gone north,' the Orc captain said to himself. 'North lies the land of the elf-witch, and her bowmen never miss. They hide in the trees and pick us off, and we never even see 'em. South we risk runnin' into the horseboys, but at least we 'ave a chance against 'em—wouldn't have no chance with those pointy-ears.'

"Awreet, boys," the Orc captain announced, "we be headin' south."

Off the goblins happily shambled.

Glorfindel would have been horrified at this development, of course, but how could he have known of Saruman's villainy? Not even Gandalf suspected Saruman, and thus it was that centuries later the Grey Wizard would walk blindly into a trap set by the White one. If Gandalf the Grey could be deceived, then what could have been expected of Glorfindel, who had far fewer dealings with the Lord of Isengard? It is true that amongst the Elves Galadriel had always doubted Saruman, but she had not succeeded in winning over anyone to her opinion—for she as yet had no evidence beyond her own misgivings.

So Glorfindel rode north, every step taking him further from Anomen, while a band of Orcs headed south, drawing ever nearer to their quarry, who, as determined as he was, could not march as swiftly as these Orcs could trot.

Of course, Glorfindel and the Orcs who had been trailing him were not the only players moving about the board. Saruman's second band of Orcs was marching north, directly in the path of Taurmeldir as he and his scouts advanced southward. And behind Taurmeldir came Elladan, Elrohir, and Haldir, who were tracking Taurmeldir and _his_ band. Ai! Surely some of these players must meet in the end, with consequences that could only be imagined.

Within the elfling band, Haldir had followed along behind Elladan and Elrohir without voicing his objections until the sun began to set. At that point, he _had_ to speak.

"Um, Elladan, Elrohir," he began timidly, "it is getting late."

"Really!" exclaimed Elrohir, feigning surprise. "I hadn't noticed!"

"We have been walking much longer than three hours," observed Haldir.

"True," agreed Elladan, unconcerned.

"Well, ah, don't you think we should turn back? Won't your father be alarmed if we do not soon return to Imladris?"

"Oh, my pardon, Haldir," said Elrohir. "I forgot to tell you that we spoke to our father before we departed."

"What did you say?" asked Haldir nervously.

"We asked if we might take you camping, hunting, hiking, and swimming. He said we might. We asked if we could be excused from the table for the duration. He granted us leave. So, you see, Haldir, our Ada will not be expecting to see us for several days."

Elrohir spoke the truth. Of course, the twins had neglected to specify _where_ they would take Haldir for this camping, hunting, hiking, and swimming. Normally, Elrond would have thought to ask, but he had been distracted by a letter that he had just received from the Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. Seeing that he was preoccupied, the twins chose that moment to pounce. Almost before he knew what he had said, Elrond had given his sons leave to do as they would during Haldir's visit.

So an unwilling Haldir continued to trail after Elladan and Elrohir. His only consolation? Like Anomen, he believed that staying in the vicinity of the scouts would afford some protection from foes.

That night Elladan and Elrohir discovered the first flaw in their scheme. When they set up camp, they did not dare light a fire for fear it would be spotted by one of Taurmeldir's sentries. They had purloined an uncooked cut of meat from the kitchen and had planned on grilling it that night. Instead, realizing that they could not cook it without attracting attention, they had to carry it a considerable distance from their camp and pitch it into the bushes, lest its odor draw unwelcome visitors.

Anomen was faring only a little better. It is true that he had not yet completely consumed the food that Waerburh's family had given him; on the other hand, his arm ached. Even more troubling, the further south he traveled, the more forbidding the terrain grew. Increasingly, he was both lonely and frightened. Yet his love for Gandalf was so great that he never considered turning back. Fearful yet undaunted, he was now toiling across the plains of Rohan.

Anomen had covered perhaps a quarter of the distance across those vast grasslands when his quick ears heard the hoof beats of horses. There was little shelter in that place, so he had to settle for flinging himself flat upon the ground in hopes that the tall grass would conceal him. This plan very nearly worked. A company of Rohirrim came into view and rode directly toward Anomen's hiding place. As luck would have it, several horses cantered to either side of the elfling. One, however, came directly upon him and, suddenly aware of his presence, swerved to avoid trampling him. His rider looked down to see what it was that had caused his steed to shy—and spied Anomen. He gave a shout, and his companions reined in their horses. Soon Anomen found himself in the middle of a ring of horses. It is fortunate that, small, unarmed and huddled upon the ground, Anomen did not strike the Riders as a particularly fearsome foe, and so he did not find himself on the receiving end of their spears, as did many who visited Rohan unbidden. The Riders did, however, take those weapons out of their rests and hold them ready.

"Be you hurt?" asked one of the Riders wonderingly.

"No, sir."

"Lost, then?"

"No, sir. I know where I am going."

"And where would that be?"

"South."

This answer provoked smiles, as 'south' did not sound like a very definite destination.

"Where in the south?"

"I don't know yet," admitted Anomen.

"Ah, then you _are_ lost."

"Oh, no," argued Anomen. "'Tis true I am not exactly sure of where I am going, but I know where I _am_."

"And where would that be?"

Anomen had a prompt reply.

"In the land of the valiant and noble horse-masters, who are such accomplished riders that almost they seem to be at one with their steeds."

The Riders laughed, but their merriment was genial rather than mocking.

"No Orc possesses such eloquence," jested the one who had first spoken. "I think we may safely put up our weapons. Now young one, arise, doff your hood, and let us have a better look at you."

Anomen obeyed.

"Oh ho," said a second Rider. "A little scion of the Fair Folk. Are you one of Elrond's people, or do you belong to the elf-witch of the Golden Woods?"

"She is not a witch," retorted Anomen indignantly.

"So you _are_ one of hers."

"No, I am from Imladris. But she is _still_ not a witch!"

"Capable of bold speech as well as fair," said the first Rider gravely.

"And loyal to those he loves," added the second Rider. "My pardon for denigrating the Lady."

"Freely I grant it you," replied Anomen, inclining his head slightly. He spoke with such dignity and earnestness that the Riders suppressed their smiles and adopted manners equally solemn and dignified.

"What is your name, young one?" asked the first Rider.

"Anomen Elrondion."

"Anomen son of Elrond? But his sons have dark hair."

"Two of them do. I am his fosterling."

"Ah, I see. Well, Anomen Elrondion, you are far from shelter. We will bring you with us to Edoras, and send a message to your foster-father so that arrangements may be made for your return to Rivendell."

"I thank you, sir, but I must not turn aside from my errand."

"And what errand would that be?"

"I go to help a friend in peril of his life."

"That is a great task for one so young."

"It fell to me because I was the only one capable of acting in this matter."

Had Elrond been there, he would have admired the eyebrows possessed by the first Rider, for they shot up to an impressive height.

"A youngling the only one capable of acting in this matter? Pray explain how this could be so."

"It was hard to explain even to my own people," said Anomen unhappily. "My friend is Mithrandir, and I _know_ that he is in danger. But I cannot say _how_ I know."

To Anomen's surprise and relief, the Rider seemed satisfied by this explanation.

"Ah, it is the Grey Pilgrim of whom you speak. It would be a wise Man indeed who could account for his doings. He has summoned you, seemingly, although not in the usual manner."

He turned to the second Rider.

"If the Grey Pilgrim has sent for this young one, we must not thwart him. It is never wise to get on the ill side of a wizard if it can be avoided."

"True," agreed the second Rider. "Better it would be to aid the youngling in his quest than to force him to accompany us."

The first Rider turned again to Anomen.

"Very well, Anomen Elrondion. We will carry you south, to the very border of our land, and there set you down so that you may continue your journey. I hope that you soon discover your wizard, for it is a perilous place to which we will bear you!"

"I know," Anomen said simply. "Mithrandir wouldn't be in trouble if it weren't."

This speech provoked more smiles, but respectful ones.

"When that one grows up," said one Rider softly to another, "wouldn't mind having him on our side."

"For all he's so small," replied his companion, "wouldn't mind having him on our side _now_."

"Aye, right you are," agreed the other.

The leader of the Rohirrim took Anomen up before him, although the elfling protested that he could hold on behind. The Rider was wise, however, for no sooner had they set out on the ride south than Anomen fell sound asleep. Truly he was more worn and weary than he had realized! The Rider graciously forbore mentioning that fact when they made camp that night. However, when the time came to set Anomen down at the border, the Rider did gently allude to the elfling's reduced condition.

"You are certain you wish to go forward?" he said. "What you plan to do may take more strength than can be found in the body of one so small—especially when you have already expended much of your energy in your journey from the north."

"Whatever strength I possess, whether it be paltry or great, I must use it to help my friend."

"Ah, but if it be paltry, then how can you be expected to help?"

"A little help must be better than no help at all," argued Anomen.

"You are resolved to go forward then?"

"I am."

"Very well."

The Rider handed Anomen a pack.

"We can easily replenish our stocks by hunting, so I have placed in this pack as much in the way of foodstuffs as I felt your shoulders could bear. And girt on this knife—it is much more substantial than the little one that hangs at your waist."

This was true. Anomen had only the small blade that Elves customarily kept at hand for such mundane tasks as arose in the space of a day. He gratefully accepted the longer knife, which could almost have served as a small sword.

"I shall be sure to tell Lord Elrond of your generosity. He will be grateful."

The Men of Rohan watched Anomen march away, his shoulders slightly bent under the weight of the pack.

"Do you think Elrond truly will be grateful?" the second Rider asked the leader.

The first Rider shook his head.

"He will be grateful that we didn't slay him out of hand for trespassing in our lands. But as for helping the little one on his way, no, Elrond will not be grateful for that. I am sure he would have much preferred that we had bound him onto a horse and borne him to Edoras, and there locked him up under guard until such time as the Elves could retrieve him. But Elrond is far away, and the Grey Pilgrim is likely to visit these lands long before the Lord of Imladris does. One must always give thought first to the danger that is nearer at hand. I do not fear retribution at the hand of Elrond, but Gandalf's staff, ah, that is another matter. If he were to learn that we tried to prevent someone from coming to his aid, I do not think he would be happy!"

The second Rider nodded. He could see the wisdom of these words. He and the other Riders reined their horses about and resumed their journey to Edoras.

As Anomen walked, he found himself drawn to a distant cliff. He clambered over and around every obstacle in his effort to reach it. Slowly it grew nearer and nearer. At last he arrived at its base. Unerringly, he made for the scrub that fringed it. There in a bush was a sword. It was a nondescript weapon that could have been wielded by anyone, but Anomen rummaged about a little further until he uncovered something whose ownership was indisputable. A staff. Gandalf's staff. Anomen sat back on his heels to consider.

He had been carried part of the way on horseback, and he had not lacked for food. Nevertheless, Anomen was weary, and his shoulder still ached. The elfling knew that he had not the strength to carry both sword and staff. What ought he to do? 'It is bad for a wizard to be separated from his sword', he said to himself, 'but it is even worse for a wizard to be separated from his staff. Very well, then, I will carry the staff'. The staff was twice the height of the elfling, but he gripped it nonetheless and marched on.

The terrain through which Anomen now toiled was bleak and forbidding, and it is difficult to imagine that such a small and weak being could have traversed it. But Anomen had a stout heart. Years later, perhaps there were some among the Wise who remembered the elfling's journey when they had to decide whether another being who was small in stature would be capable of venturing through these harsh lands. Indeed, in one way Anomen was able to show that the small and stealthy might have an advantage over the big and bold, for on several occasions he was able to slip into tiny crevasses and therefore avoid detection when sorties of Orcs marched by.

Inexorably drawn by his kinship with the wizard, Anomen was wending his way toward the fortress of Minas Morgul, although he did not know the name of the place that enticed him so. The Morgul Vale! A place inhabited by creatures that were feared even by the most powerful and loathsome of the Orcs themselves. If Anomen had known the nature of the place he struggled so hard to reach, doubtless he would have been more frightened even that he was. Still, he would have kept on nonetheless.

When at last Minas Morgul crawled into view, Anomen's eye was drawn immediately to the tower of Cirith Ungol.

'He's there', he said to himself immediately. 'He's in that tower. The very top, I shouldn't doubt. Yes, just behind that little window'.

Hidden behind a boulder, Anomen studied the scene. There were guards at the base of the tower, and Anomen was sure that within the structure would be swarming with Orcs. Curiously, the entrance to the Vale itself was unguarded, the breach in the wall flanked only by two hideous statues.

'I am sure I can get into the enclosure', Anomen murmured to himself, 'but how am I to get into the tower itself?' He returned his attention to the tower.

'The exterior is very rough', he observed. 'I am certain that it would provide enough handholds and footholds for me to scale it. Very well, then. I will slip through the opening in the wall and creep to the tower—there is cover enough! Then I will climb up to that window. Once I have returned Mithrandir's staff to him, he shall be able to manage from there'.

Here, of course, Anomen was being more than a trifle optimistic; but he should be forgiven, for it is in the nature of the young to place inordinate trust in their heroes. Indeed, it is the nature of the young to have heroes in the first place! Anomen may thus be pardoned for assuming that, through the proper application of magic, Gandalf would be able to dispense with a valeful of Orcs. Had Erestor been there, no doubt he would have pointed out to Anomen that Gandalf's powers hadn't prevented him from getting into trouble in the first place! But Anomen was an elfling and thus untroubled by such considerations.

As Anomen watched, at last it seemed to him that the guards at the base of the tower had become caught up in some sort of dice game. He was right, although it was fortunate that he did not realize that the loathsome creatures were casting lots for the effects of some prisoners who had been recently executed for failing to sufficiently amuse their Captain. Anomen crept out from behind his boulder, and, keeping as small a profile as possible, readied himself to dash through the breach in the wall.

'Now for it', he cried to himself, and bolted forward—only to find himself lying dazed in the dirt.

'What did I hit?' he asked himself in bewilderment, looking all about. He saw nothing, but suddenly he sensed that he was being watched, and he cast his eyes upward, his gaze falling upon the hideous statues on either side of the breach in the wall. With a shock, he realized that these three-headed, vulture-faced phantasms, though hewn of stone, were in some way sentient. They had been imbued by their creators with watchfulness and would permit the servants of Sauron to pass, but not his enemies.

Anomen looked hard at the wall. Unlike those of the tower, they were much too smooth to be scaled. The opening in the wall was the only way in. He had a sudden inspiration. Holding up Gandalf's staff before him, he cautiously approached the breach. Stone as they were, the multiple faces of the two statues appeared to express uneasiness. Emboldened, Anomen pushed forward. The barrier seemed to be softening, stretching—with one last mighty push he broke through it and flung himself off to one side, behind an overturned cart, just as the many faces opened their mouths to cry out. Seeing no one, however, they subsided back into stony silence.

Taking care to stay out of sight of both the Orcs and the watchful stones, Anomen crawled to the base of the tower. Once there, he shrugged off his pack and tied Gandalf's staff to his back. Then he began the laborious process of scaling the tower. Fortunately, the Orcs who infested that place were not in the habit of raising their eyes to the stars. If they had been, perhaps one of them would have spotted the small figure. As it was, up, up, up climbed Anomen, and no one descried him. Unerringly, he made toward the tiny window in the uppermost level of the tower. His arm hurt as he climbed, of course, but he disregarded the pain. At length he found himself clinging to the bars of the aperture. There sat Gandalf, sitting against a wall, his head upon his chest.

"Mithrandir," Anomen said softly.

Gandalf was not one to be surprised easily, but Anomen had the satisfaction of seeing him gape open-mouthed as he glanced at the window and beheld the elfling's face pressed against the bars.

"Anomen!" the wizard gasped. "How came you here?"

"I walked," Anomen said simply.

"I am sure you did," replied the wizard, "but how is it that you have come _here_, of all places?"

"You are here," Anomen said, as if it were obvious. "I have something of yours," he added before Gandalf could ask any further questions. "You had better come to the window and get it. It's tied to my back."

Gandalf went to the window and was delighted to find his staff. He untied the knots that bound it to Anomen's back and drew it through the window.

"Thank you, my boy," he exclaimed. "Now, descend from this tower and hasten to the north as fast as ever you may. Let's see, what would be the first friendly settlement that you could reach? There will be Rohirrim encampments scattered throughout the plain, but they move about and you couldn't be sure of striking one. Ah, yes, I have it! Make for Isengard with all speed."

"What will you do, Mithrandir?"

"Never you mind about that, Anomen. Just hasten to Saruman."

"I won't go without you!"

"Oh, I'll come after," Gandalf reassured him.

"No, you won't! You mean to flee west, to draw off any pursuit!"

Gandalf bit back an oath in the Black Speech. Anomen was right. When time permitted, the wizard said to himself, he would have to look more closely into Anomen's genealogy. He was certain that at some point Anomen and Galadriel must have had an ancestor in common. 'How else to explain the lad's prescience?' he murmured to himself. Then he pushed aside these thoughts and sighed.

"Very well, Anomen, I _do_ mean to draw off any pursuit. You have put yourself in great danger on my account, and ought to be gotten out of it as quickly as possible. You must understand that any Orc who came upon you would be as happy as a Man who had just been vouchsafed a veal calf!"

Anomen shuddered but remained steadfast.

"But Mithrandir," he argued, "wouldn't I be safer in the company of a wizard than by myself?"

"Hmmph!" snorted Gandalf. "I have lately done a noticeably poor job of safeguarding my own person. Are you sure you want to trust yourself to my hands? You may in fact be better off on your own!"

"Well, never mind then," said Anomen, abruptly abandoning the argument. "But there is something else I ought to mention. You should flee north rather than west."

"And why is that?"

"You know that by now Lord Elrond will have sent out Elves to search for me. You would have a fair chance of encountering them if you head north, but if you flee west, you may expect no aid until you reach one of the settlements of Gondor."

"Hmmm. Good point. Yes, I suppose I should head north."

"In which case," said Anomen slyly, "we may as well travel together, as I am heading that way myself."

Gandalf made a great show of rolling his eyes in exasperation, but in truth, from the moment that Anomen had divined his intentions, the wizard had been preparing himself to concede. After all, what choice did he have? Anomen surely intended to cling to him like a burr.

"Very well, Anomen. You must descend from this tower and wait for me to join you. Did you enter the compound by passing between two ugly statues that seem to stand guard?"

"Yes. They blocked my passage until I held up your staff, and then they gave way."

"Ah, that is good to know. Now then, just before you reached those statues, did you notice that there were some steps, very steep ones, cut into the mountain side?"

"I saw some steps that ascended as far as I could see, perhaps to the summit itself. Are those the ones you mean?"

"Yes! There are some old blocks tumbled about there that will provide you cover whilst you wait for me to join you. But whatever you do, do not go up those stairs!"

"I won't," promised Anomen.

"Good lad! Now be off with you, and I will come along as quickly as I can. It may take a while, I hope you know."

Anomen nodded and got ready to climb down. Suddenly something occurred to him.

"Mithrandir! I can't get out without your staff!"

Gandalf clapped his hand to his head.

"Of course you can't. I _am_ a fool!"

He picked up his peaked hat from the floor. Holding it in one hand, he passed his staff over it several times and uttered words that, while they were _not_ mumbo-jumbo, were just as incomprehensible to Anomen. Then he passed the hat through the bars to Anomen, who, clinging tightly with one hand, used the other to stuff the hat into his tunic.

"There you go, my lad. Just you put than on when the time comes for you to pass by those nasty statues. They won't know what to make of you."

Anomen nodded and began his careful descent. When he reached the base of the tower, he collected his pack and stole back toward the opening in the wall. Again he waited until the tower guards were distracted. Then he clapped the hat on his head—it came down to his chin—and stumbled through the opening, rather afraid that he would walk into the walls rather than by them. Gandalf was right. The statues, for all their vigilance, were confused by this apparition. They saw what looked like a cone of darkness sweeping by them. Puzzled, they watched until Anomen dove out of sight behind some huge masonry blocks, and then they resumed their silent brooding.

Once Anomen had departed, Gandalf gave thought to how he could follow him.

"Now I have my staff," he muttered to himself, "I could blast that door open. However, if I do so, the attendant noise would be liable to draw attention. No, I must make my escape in a more humdrum fashion."

He laid the staff on the floor between himself and the wall so that it would not be spied by a guard glancing in at the trapdoor. Then he settled himself down for a long wait, lying on his back and closing his eyes. At length he heard the trapdoor being lifted, and a warder climbed up the ladder and approached.

"Here, you," uttered a rough voice. "Better eat yer food afore the rats do."

A metal basin clattered upon the floor. Gandalf did not move.

"Hey, didn' ya 'ear me?" growled the warder. "I said eat yer food."

Gandalf remained still. He felt the warder draw nearer, and from the sound of his breathing, knew that his captor was bending over him. Swiftly he seized his staff and brought it down upon his jailer's pate. With a groan, the Orc crumpled onto the floor of the cell.

Gandalf hastily stripped the goblin of its clothes and armor. He pulled off his own robes and garbed the Orc in them, pulling the hood of his cloak over the goblin's head. Then he dressed himself in the guard's garments, not neglecting the helmet, for he knew he must cover his face. He wrinkled his face in disgust at the odor and shuddered as he felt the fleas and lice begin to crawl over his body.

"I must submerge myself in the icy waters of the Anduin as soon as ever I may—oh, not the beard!"

The wizard's prayers and entreaties did not, however, dissuade his newly acquired fauna from taking up residence in his capacious facial hair. I suppose that, from the point of view of a louse, a wizard's beard is a veritable mansion, spacious and well-appointed.

Trying not to scratch, Gandalf quickly descended the ladder and, scuttling along in a fair imitation of the crouching waddle of an Orc, he had almost made his way to the ground level when he encountered his first check. Shouts broke out from the tower. His escape had been discovered.

He hurried down another flight. As he reached the bottom, two Orcs stepped out from a doorway and challenged him.

"You there, stop!" snarled the larger of the two. "What's yer name?"

"You don't need to know his name," replied Gandalf, his voice soothing, almost hypnotic.

The larger Orc turned to the smaller one.

"We don't need to know his name."

"He's not the prisoner you are looking for," continued Gandalf in the same mesmerizing tone.

"He isn't the prisoner we're looking for," the Orc repeated obediently to his companion.

"He can go about his business."

"You can go about your business," said the Orc.

"Move along."

"Move along."

The Orc gestured dismissal and Gandalf casually sauntered off.

"Neat trick, that," he murmured. "Useful _and_ amusing. Hope it never goes out of style. But why should it? Millennia from now, doubtless folk will still find it handy."

Keeping his head low and his body hunched, Gandalf continued scuttling toward the tower door. Excited—and heedless—Orcs swarmed about. All eyes were turned toward the tower. Indeed, the guards at the entrance had abandoned their posts and hurried straight past Gandalf in order to reach the center of all the excitement. Gandalf reached the door, and, moving as fast as he could without abandoning the appearance of scuttling, he made for the breach in the wall. Once there, he pulled his staff out from under his Orc rags and held it up before the eyes of the many-headed statues. Held in the authoritative grip of a wizard, the staff caused them to yield even faster than they had before. Gandalf stepped through. Ai! Unlike Anomen, he did not at once disappear from their sight, and at last that multitude of mouths was able to give vent to its fury. A high-pitched shriek of fury and alarm arose high over Morgul Vale. Gandalf abandoned his orc-scuttle and took to his heels.


	7. When The Bough Breaks

**_Karri:_ Not only will Elrond be unhappy with the Rohirrim, in a future chapter he is going to have an opportunity to express his unhappiness.**

**_Terreis:_ Ah hah! You spotted the line about Gandalf's beard, didn't you? Yes, you are right. That line is taken from the Fellowship of the Ring, movie verse.**

**_Joee_****: I am so pleased that you and the others spotted the Jedi mind trick. You mentioned it, and so did Karri, Chrys, and Nathalia Potter. Yes, there was also a part of me that wished Anomen would climb the stairs. The minute Gandalf warned Anomen _not_ to climb the stairs, I said to myself, 'Oh, but now he must!' Unfortunately, I have let the opportunity pass, as it would not permit some other events to occur that I already had in mind. I'm beginning to rethink my decision, however, as I have some ideas as to how I could get them in and out of the spiders' lair and back on the path to the Plains of Rohan.**

**_Legosgurl:_ What have you done to offend the God of Technology? That deity seems to be throwing power surges at your computer on an almost daily basis! I think you had better sacrifice some discs to it to placate its wrath!**

**_Chrys:_ Yep, Gandalf is actually the great-great-great-great-great, etc., grandfather of Obi-wan-Kenobe.**

**_Nathalia__ Potter:_ Yes, I'm a real fan of the original three Star Wars movies. I wish that Lucas had stopped there. I haven't particularly liked either of the two 'prequels' that have come out so far, and I don't have much hope for the third.  
**  
**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_.**

**Chapter 7: When the Bough Breaks**

A few yards beyond the shrieking statues, Gandalf reached the spot where Anomen was hiding, and the wizard dove rather ungracefully behind the blocks to join the elfling. Anomen nearly added his shrieks to those of the statues when this ungainly 'Orc' came catapulting over the slab of rock behind which he sheltered, but Gandalf clapped a hand over his mouth. "Quick," he gasped. "Give me the hat." He yanked it off Anomen's head and then threw it several feet up the stairs: high enough so it would appear that it had been dropped by someone ascending the steps, not so high that the Orcs would miss seeing it as they emerged from their warren to search for the fugitives, as they would surely do within minutes. That done, Gandalf seized hold of Anomen's wrist—fortunately not the injured one—and pulled him across the road and into the scrub on the other side. The wizard knew several ways in and out of the environs of Mordor and had no intention of keeping to a well-traveled path when a more obscure one would do.

They abandoned the road none too soon. They heard cries and the tromping of feet, sounds which halted as the Orcs spied the hat.

"Well, that's done for 'im," announced one of the goblins. "Tryin' to escape up the stairs, 'e is. Naught but spider fodder now. Might as well get on back."

"Can't," replied another gloomily. "Cap'n wants 'im found. Says either e's to amuse 'im or _we_ is."

This led to a considerable amount of uneasy grumbling, but the Orcs were caught between a dragon and a cave-troll, as the saying goes. If they retreated, they would have to face their Captain. If they went forward, on the other hand, they would have to brave spiders that would have made Mirkwood arachnids look like the famously harmless daddy-long-legs (which are not even spiders, in point of fact). The stalemate was only broken when the Captain himself issued forth to check on the progress of the pursuit. The Orcs saw him stomping toward them, brandishing a whip (the leather one tipped with metal barbs, no less), and reluctantly they began to clamber up the steps.

While the Orcs were clambering, Gandalf and Anomen were scampering. The wizard knew that eventually his ruse would be uncovered, for the Orcs would at length discover that no old Man was cooling his heels in the spiders' larder. As a fresh catch, he would not have been devoured immediately but would have been wrapped up in spider silk and hung from the ceiling of one of the chambers in the spiders' lair. The Orcs would send in scout after scout; eventually enough Orcs would have been snared by the spiders for the arachnids to look on, uninterested, as the surviving Orcs searched their nest. Then the goblins would realize that he had never come that way. They would begin to search the road, and, if their Captain was clever enough—Gandalf feared that he _was_—scouts would also be dispatched to scour the countryside. Gandalf meant for the two of them to be far away when at last the Orcs realized the truth of the matter.

At first they kept up a good pace. Gandalf was relatively 'fresh', for he had had plenty of rest—enforced rest, of course, but rejuvenating nevertheless. At first, as the wizard dragged Anomen along, the elfling made shift to keep up, but in the previous weeks he had trudged a considerable distance, and that very day he had both ascended and descended the tower of Cirith Ungol—and not by the stairs. At length he stumbled and then cried out as Gandalf seized his bad arm in order to steady him. At once Gandalf halted their headlong flight.

"My poor lad! You are hurt!"

"A trifling little injury," said Anomen evasively. "It is nothing."

"You must let me see," Gandalf insisted. Gently he pushed back Anomen's sleeve until he saw the reddened skin around the birthmark.

"Oh ho," said Gandalf softly, "I think I now understand how you found me. You must have suffered dreadfully, and all on account of my carelessness!"

"So my sore arm _was_ telling me something about you," Anomen marveled. "But how could that be?"

Gandalf considered for a moment. How much should he tell the elfling? Not much, he decided. He himself was not sure of the significance of the shared birthmark.

"The number nine is very important to wizards," he told Anomen.

"Why is that?"

"Because it is three squared, and the number three is very important to wizards."

"But why is _that_?"

"Because there are three angles in a triangle, and triangles are very important to wizards."

"Why?"

"Because I say so!" harrumphed Gandalf. "Oh, hang it all—_I_ don't know why three is so important, but haven't you noticed that 'trouble comes in three's' and 'three's company' and, and, 'three little kittens' and 'three blind mice' and 'once bitten, thrice shy'?"

"That's twice shy."

"What?"

"Once bitten, _twice_ shy. And it's not 'three's company'. The saying is, 'Two's company, three's a crowd'."

"Well, well, well," blustered the wizard, "I am older than you and I deal with larger sums, is all."

Anomen looked dubious.

"You will just have to trust me," Gandalf said beseechingly.

Anomen sighed.

"That's what grown-ups always say," he murmured sadly.

"Anomen," said Gandalf gently. "Have I ever given you reason _not_ to trust me? 'Tis true I do not always tell you the _whole_ truth, but have I ever told you a falsehood?"

Anomen considered and at last shook his head.

"No, you have never lied to me—except," he added astutely, "just now."

"Ah, but I haven't," Gandalf said, grinning slyly. "The number nine _is_ important to wizards. I merely neglected to specify _how_ important. Moreover, I left out the fact that _all_ numbers are important to wizards. There now," he concluded triumphantly.

"Mithrandir, may I ask you something?"

"I suppose so," said Gandalf slowly, fearful of what the elfling might say next.

"You are always so confusing in your speech. If I were to study your genealogy, would I find that you and the Lady Galadriel share a distant ancestor?"

Unaccountably—to Anomen, that is—Gandalf began to laugh heartily, guffaws arising from deep in his belly, which shook so much that he placed both hands upon it as if to quiet himself. At last he grew calmer and brushed tears from the corners of his eyes.

"I must get a hold of myself," he gasped, "lest my laughter bring Orcs down upon us. Come, let me have your pack. Then let us go forward, although at a slower pace, for I see you have little strength to spare."

Gandalf took Anomen's rucksack and shrugged it over his own shoulders, turning his back as he did so that Anomen would not see him wince when the strap scraped his own injury. Then he carefully helped Anomen to his feet, and, this time holding his arm to support him rather than to drag him along, he encouraged the elfling on.

They walked through the night. As dawn neared, Anomen's belly gave a mighty rumble.

"Aren't you the one for suffering," exclaimed Gandalf. "First you don't mention that you are weak and weary; then you omit telling me that you are hungry. Really, you must be more forthcoming if you hope to survive this trek."

He released Anomen's arm, and the elfling sank to the ground.

"Hmmm," mused Gandalf, "I wish I had thought to bring away my dinner with me. Even now the rats feast upon it—well, 'feast' is perhaps not the right word, as even rats are reluctant to dine upon Orc provender. The very cockroaches turn their noses up at it."

"Cockroaches have noses?" Anomen said earnestly.

"And _your_ genealogy," said Gandalf dryly, "probably at some point merges with Haldir's."

"Why do you say that?"

"Never mind!" smiled Gandalf, shaking his head at the naiveté of the young one. "Time enough for you to learn irony, I suppose."

"Irony? Am I to learn to work metal like, like—a Dwarf?"

"No! no! no! But enough talk. What are you to eat, that's what I want to know!"

"Some of the provisions in the pack."

"What?"

"The pack. There are provisions in it."

Gandalf stared at him for a second and then remembered that he bore Anomen's rucksack on his back.

"Oh, yes, of course," he said, shrugging that article off his back and opening it. "Ah, several strips of smoked meat and a goodly amount of bread. That's dry, but better stale than moldy, _I_ always say."

Gandalf handed Anomen a strip of meat. The elfling tore off a bit and handed it back.

"Anomen, you must eat more than such a tiny mouthful."

"But the food must last us for several days. And you must eat as well."

"Nonsense! I'm a tough old bird. I can live on nothing but air for days at a time."

"You don't want to lie to me!" Anomen said with pretend severity. "But, truly, Mithrandir," he continued, putting on his most innocent smile and opening his blue eyes very wide, "if you fall ill, what shall happen to me? You need to keep up your strength on my account, even if not your own."

Gandalf nodded.

"Very well," he said with mock gravity. "I will join you in your repast."

Each solemnly chewed and swallowed a bit of the tough meat. Then Gandalf decreed that they should sleep for several hours.

While the two fugitives rested, far away to the north, others were stirring. The Orcs who had been sent north by Saruman had been promised extravagant rewards should they be the ones to capture the golden-haired elfling.

"Three meals a day, and fresh meat at every one of them," Saruman had told them. "And, as a special treat, you may dine upon the elfling when I have finished with him."

This was, of course, a lie, for Saruman meant to murder the Orcs and keep the elfling for himself. His servants did not know this, however, so Saruman's words had the desired effect. They hurried north as fast as they could scuttle, and they intended to let nothing stand in their way. They were resolved to cut through anyone—Dwarf, Man, or Elf—who might stand between them and their prize. Fortunately, the Dunlendings were very practiced at fleeing or hiding from foes, so thus far no innocent blood had been shed, but now the Orcs were drawing near to the Elves under Taurmeldir's command who were traveling southward. And, of course, trailing just behind the elven warriors was a small band of three elflings in complete ignorance of the approaching peril.

As Haldir found himself still alive after spending several days with the twins, he was beginning to let down his guard just a little.

'This excursion has not been so very dreadful', he said to himself, 'although a bit of fresh meat would be nice. The smoked meat in our packs is tough and not very flavorful'.

In point of fact, Elrohir and Elladan had been thinking along similar lines, and now Elrohir was about to propose a solution.

"Taurmeldir's scouts have been hunting along the way; they haven't wanted for venison," he observed. "And of course they have lit campfires every night in order to cook their winnings."

"True," said Haldir gloomily, "and we could bring down small game with _our_ bows, but it wouldn't do us any good, because _we_ can't light any fires."

"But I think it would be bad if we continued to eat naught but smoked meat," opined Elladan. "We will fall ill, I am sure, from subsisting on such a poor diet."

"Ah," said Haldir hopefully, "I suppose that means we must return to Imladris."

"Oh, that won't be necessary," said Elrohir cheerfully. "As we dare not prepare fresh meat, we must find some other way of acquiring cooked dishes."

Haldir looked at him, puzzled. Either one cooked one's meat or one didn't. What other way was there?

"Yes," agreed Elladan. "We must contrive to lay our hands on well-dressed venison grilled to a nicety."

"I suppose," said Haldir sourly, "that such a dish grows on trees, ripe for the picking."

"Haldir is being ironic," said Elladan, feigning surprise.

"No," said Elrohir, wrinkling his brow in mock thoughtfulness. "I would say he is being sarcastic."

"Well, ironic or sarcastic, he has hit the mark."

"Oh, you _are_ Galadriel's grandsons," huffed Haldir. "You speak just about as clearly as she does!"

"That's _Lady_ Galadriel to you," retorted Elrohir, but he and Elladan nonetheless pretended to take his words as a compliment, bowing in exaggerated fashion. Haldir took no notice and went on.

"What do you mean, I 'hit the mark'?" he demanded.

"We-ell," said Elrohir, "when Taurmeldir's scouts finish eating, often there is food left over. They put it in bags and hang it from trees so the foxes and the wolves don't meddle with it."

"And you are proposing?" snapped Haldir.

"You are a Lothlórien Elf, and Lórien Elves live in trees," observed Elladan. "It should be an easy enough matter for you to find your way into one of those trees in order to snag a bag of savory, cooked venison. Mmmm, I can already taste it! What a feast you shall provide us!"

"And when the bag is missed?" demanded Haldir.

"Oh," said Elrohir cheerfully, "the theft shall be put upon raccoons."

"I hope," said Haldir gloomily, "that I am not mistaken for a raccoon whilst in the trees. I have no mind to be riddled with arrows."

"No one would waste an arrow on a raccoon," Elladan assured him. "Someone might fling a chunk of wood in your direction, is all."

"Oh, wonderful," snorted Haldir.

"Why, Haldir," grinned Elladan, "more irony!"

"Sarcasm," pronounced Elrohir, eyes dancing with mischief.

"I'll give you sarcasm," growled Haldir, but as he spoke he suddenly realized that there was a good chance that he would be discovered—and that would put an end to their little expedition.

"Very well," he said, "I will do it. But do not blame me for the outcome!" he added with unexpected cheerfulness.

Elrohir and Elladan looked suddenly suspicious, but it was too late: Haldir had already leapt to his feet and was stealing toward Taurmeldir's camp.

When Haldir, followed by Elrohir and Elladan, arrived near the edge of the camp, he quickly located one of the trees that the Elves were using as a food cache. Quickly he climbed up to limb from which the sack dangled and he began to inch along it toward his prize. Just then, shouts broke out.

"Haldir's been spotted," hissed Elladan. "Quick! Up into a tree."

The twins chose a tree of their own and quickly scrambled into it. But from this new vantage point, what they saw astonished them. Orcs were pouring into the camp, fierce Orcs, reckless Orcs, and they were overwhelming the small force of lightly-armed Elves, which was, after all, a search party and not a war party. "Retreat," Taurmeldir shouted above the din. "Retreat!"

Vaulting onto their horses, Taurmeldir's scouts galloped underneath the hiding places of Haldir and twins and headed north. The elflings were too bewildered to cry out to their kinsfolk, and before the elflings could descend and attempt to follow them, the Orcs began to march by in pursuit. The elflings stared at each other in consternation. They had ended up on the wrong side, with Orcs standing between them and their home!

Matters were about to get worse, however—much worse. They were, of course, in Dunland, and not all the trees in that land were on good terms with the Elves. In fact, quiet a few had malicious hearts. Just as the last Orc was passing underneath Haldir's tree, the nasty shrub decided to jettison the branch upon which Haldir crouched. Crack! The bough snapped, and Haldir plummeted to the ground. The Orc turned and saw—

"An elfling what's got golden-hair!" he bellowed.

The goblin reached out a long arm and snagged Haldir. Horrified, Elladan and Elrohir at once abandoned their own perch, leaping onto the Orc and knocking him over. Then each twin grabbed one of Haldir's arms, and between the two of them they pulled the befuddled elfling to his feet. The other Orcs had turned at their comrade's shout, and now the entire band was running full tilt back toward the elflings. Their home was to the north, but they had no choice. With Haldir still supported by the twins, the three began to stumble toward the south, with two score of Orcs in pursuit. Unaware of what had just transpired, Taurmeldir and his Elves, however, continued retreating north. They intended to alert Elrond as to the presence of a large band of Orcs. As they hastened toward Rivendell, it is a pity that they did not study the ground at their feet. If they had, they would have discovered signs that three elflings had been following them south. Ai! As they retreated, those traces were soon overlaid by their own prints. Onward the scouts rode to the north, and onward the elflings ran to the south.


	8. Goosey Goosey Gandalf

**Folks, this is the last elfling chapter for at least a week or so. I'm heading out for a conference—in Fort Lauderdale! Really, it _is_ a conference, and I have to make a presentation. Honest.**

**_Dragonfly:_ Yes, the twins and Haldir have really done it this time.**

**_Terreis:_**** Goodness! If I were an Orc, I would flee from you. You are as scary as Edwen Nana, what with your knocking Orcs 'upside the head'. Yes, I think it was very clever of Gandalf to use his hat in that fashion. The deuced thing finally came in handy. Ian McKellan is supposed to have hated it. On one of the extended edition commentaries, someone described how Sir Ian scrunching it up under his arm, and she wondered what the hat would look like when it reemerged. Apparently it survived Sir Ian's assault and battery very little the worse for wear. As indestructible as its owner, I guess.**

**_Legosgurl_****: Marry a _fanfiction_? Now you're getting kinky!**

_Joee_: A support group for Saruman? I suppose you get the Ring-Wraiths to join. And Lurtz, definitely Lurtz. He needs a little help in the area of anger management.

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_**

**Chapter 8: Goosey Goosey Gandalf**

Glorfindel and his scouts had ridden swiftly toward Lothlórien. When they reached its borders, they were challenged by sentinels who demanded that they dismount and entrust their horses to the Lórien Elves, as was customary. When Glorfindel had explained their mission, however, the urgency of that errand prompted the sentinels to permit them to retain their mounts, and the Rivendell Elves quickly journeyed on to Caras Galadhon, along the way startling many an Elf unaccustomed to spying horses from the vantage point of a flet.

When they arrived at Caras Galadhon, they were immediately escorted to the talan of the Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel.

"I see that you have mislaid Anomen," the Lady said before Glorfindel even had a chance to speak. Balrog-slayer though he was, Glorfindel was abashed and strove to recover whatever honor could be salvaged from the situation.

"If I recall correctly," he answered lamely, by way of defense, "_you_ lost him once yourself."

"Ah, but I did not lose him," replied Galadriel, smiling. "I let him go. Had I wanted to restrain him, be sure that he would even now be whiling away his time in the crest of a mallorn tree. He should not leave without _my_ leave."

"Galadriel," Celeborn chided. "It is not like you to boast."

"I am not boasting," Galadriel answered. "How is it boasting if I speak the truth?"

"And it is the truth," Glorfindel had to admit. "Lady Galadriel is correct. It is well known that nothing can transpire in Lothlórien without her knowledge. But, my Lady, putting aside our remissness in misplacing one wayward elfling, I am sure you know that I come here in hopes that you can assist us in recovering said elfling."

"To regain your elfling, you must travel south."

"But, my Lady, we were traveling south, and we came across no trace of the lad!"

"You did not go south far enough," replied Galadriel. "He has gone to Minas Morgul."

"My Lady, how could Anomen be on his way to Minas Morgul? Again I say to you, during our entire journey south, we saw no sign of him. How could he have eluded a company of elven scouts, leaving no trace for them to find?"

"Surely an Elf knows how to elude an Elf—especially that Elf!"

"Yes," conceded Glorfindel ruefully, "Anomen is certainly unusually skilled at eluding pursuers, even elven ones. I never saw an elfling as talented as he at leaving a false trail—or no trail at all! But, my Lady, what shall I do?"

"You had better resume your journey to the south," Galadriel advised. "If you do so, you will surely retrieve at least one elfling."

At least one elfling? Whatever did that mean? But Galadriel only smiled enigmatically and shook her head.

"Make haste, Glorfindel. For your company is not the only one in pursuit of elflings this day."

More enigmatic words. Mystified, Glorfindel shook his head. There was nothing for it but to make for Minas Morgul. The balrog-slayer and his companions departed at once, their horses having been watered and their packs having been filled by the Lórien Elves whilst Glorfindel was in audience with Celeborn and Galadriel. Riding hard, the Imladris Elves rapidly regained the Plains of Rohan and commenced its crossing.

Of course, none of the other parties had stood still during the time it took for Glorfindel's band to make its detour to Lothlórien. Heading south toward Minas Morgul was Saruman's first band of Orcs, followed unwittingly—and unwillingly—by Elrohir, Elladan, and Haldir; pursuing those three hapless elflings was Saruman's second band. As Glorfindel was soon to realize, he and his company were now following in the wake of this second band—although they did not know that it was a _second_ band. Meanwhile, Gandalf and Anomen were fleeing north from Minas Morgul, fearing lest they would be pursued by foul forces—as was indeed soon to be the case. Not to be forgotten, Taurmeldir and his scouts had retreated north from Dunland and were even now galloping through the gates of Rivendell. Dismounting and handing his horse over to an elven hostler, Taurmeldir hastened to Elrond's private chamber. "Enter" called the elven lord in response to Taurmeldir's urgent knock.

Taurmeldir scarcely paused to bow. "My Lord," he gasped. "Orcs! In Dunland! Two score at least, and very determined and reckless!"

Elrond's normally impassive face showed alarm. Had these Orcs come westward from the Misty Mountains or northward from Mordor? If the Orcs had come from the east, they may never have encountered either Anomen or Glorfindel. But if they had come from the south—

Elrond sprang to his feet.

"I will lead out a force at once," he declared. "Taurmeldir, you take charge of Imladris in my absence."

"No, my Lord," protested Taurmeldir. "I am a warrior. I and all my scouts would ride out again."

"But you are weary."

"Not so weary as to be unable to ride to the relief of our kinsmen."

"I cannot leave Imladris leaderless."

"Erestor can take charge. He will be delighted."

Normally that latter observation would have wrung a smile from Elrond's lips, but not when both his foster-son and his dear friend, not to mention many others, might have been the targets of Orcs. He nodded curtly and hastened to order that preparations be made for an immediate riding.

'It is fortunate', he observed to himself as he strode toward the stables, 'that Haldir and the twins are off camping. If they heard of this Orc incursion into Dunland, no doubt they would be clamoring for permission to ride with the warriors. Aye, and when denied, they would try to sneak after. I must tell Erestor to keep the younglings very busy when they return from their excursion, lest, unsupervised, they make their escape'.

Of course, at this very minute the younglings in question were running across the Plains of Rohan, inexorably pursued by a horde of seemingly indefatigable goblins.

"They run," gasped Haldir, "as if the very whips of their masters were behind them!"

It seemed to the elflings that they had been running for months without rest—or at least only such rest as could be snatched by allowing their eyes to glaze over, so that their legs continued to methodically pump up and down while their minds wandered in elven dreams. They would take turns doing so, one staying alert so that the other two could recover their spirits and their strength. And in that fashion on and on they ran, drawing nearer and nearer to Mordor with every step they took.

"If only," wheezed Elladan, "if only a band of Riders would happen upon us. Don't they patrol this land?"

They did, but a patrol had already passed through and would not return for several days. It seemed that nothing and no one would come between the elflings and their pursuers. On they ran.

Gandalf and Anomen, too, had again taken flight. The wizard had awoken before the elfling and had crept to the top of a ridge to reconnoiter. Far in the distance, but not far enough to his way of thinking, he spied movement.

"No doubt," he muttered to himself, "they have uncovered my sleight of hand and are now hard on our trail."

In this Gandalf was correct. Orc after Orc had crept into the spiders' lair. After a score of them had been seized and wrapped in silk, the arachnids had settled into somnolence and permitted the surviving goblins to search the caverns. No trace of the 'old fool' was found, and at last even the stupidest Orc realized that they had been hoodwinked—or hatwinked, as it were. Slowly, fearful of the wrath of the Captain, they crept back to Cirith Ungol, there to present themselves before that fearsome goblin.

"Well," the Captain snarled. "Where is he?"

Wordlessly, one of the Orcs held out Gandalf's hat.

"That's _all_? A pointy hat? What'm I supposed to do with it—stretch it on the rack?"

"Heads are gonna roll," gleefully observed one Orc fortunate enough to be no more than an onlooker. "Yep! Yep! There they go."

After the heads had stopped rolling, the Captain ordered out another band of Orcs.

"I want the head what goes with this hat," he ordered. "And," he added sarcastically, "if it in't _too_ much trouble, bring the body back, too—still attached to the head, as I mean to be the one to _de_tach it!"

Now this second band of Orcs was drawing uncomfortably near to Gandalf and Anomen's hiding place. The wizard slipped back and gently roused Anomen.

"We must resume our march," he informed the elfling. "Here. Take a bite of bread and a sip of water."

Gandalf jammed his Orc helmet back on his head while Anomen broke fast.

"Good thing I did not cast this aside," he said thoughtfully. "It may yet come in handy. Ready now?"

Anomen said that he was, but when he tried to stand up, he swayed and toppled over.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking up at Gandalf and trying to appear stoic. "You had better go on without me. I am very small. I'll find some sort of crevice to crawl into. Perhaps they'll overlook me."

"Never heard such nonsense, no, not in all my years in Middle-earth!" huffed Gandalf. "Go on without you? Unthinkable!"

The wizard knelt down beside the elfling.

"Come, my lad," he said gently. "Climb up on my back and throw your arms about my neck."

"You don't mean to carry me?"

"Of course I do. You weigh scarcely more than this pack, which is itself not overmuch heavy. Now, then, unless you wish the Orcs to capture and dismember me, mount up—for I will not leave you!"

Anomen obeyed, crawling onto Gandalf's back and flinging his arms about his neck. Gandalf winced when the elfling inadvertently brushed against his sore shoulder, but the wizard did not let on to the pain but merely urged Anomen to grip him tightly. Then he arose and began to jog northward. Had anyone been there to witness his progress, it would have seemed a most peculiar sight—an Orc giving a pick-a-back ride to an elfling! As it happened, however, after a little while Anomen revived and assured Gandalf that he could walk. And so the wizard allowed Anomen to dismount and, holding him carefully by the hand, he gently but urgently led the elfling onward.

The Orcs tracking Gandalf and Anomen were no less determined than the ones pursuing Elladan, Elrohir, and Haldir—and they were gaining on their elfling prey. With a desperate burst of speed, those three elflings rounded a hill—and ran straight into the back ranks of Saruman's other band of Orcs.

"'Hul-lo, what's this!" shouted a surprised Orc at the sight of Haldir and his golden hair. "'Ow did you get in _back_ of us?"

Haldir and the twins might have replied by asking how the Orcs had managed to get in front of _them_, but they were prevented by the sudden arrival of the second band of Orcs, the ones that had actually been pursuing Haldir and his companions. Now surrounded by goblins, the elflings, as valiant as they were desperate, nocked their bows and formed a circle, back to back. The Orcs, however—and rightly so—were not in the least cowed by these small Elves and their equally small bows. Instead, each goblin band faced off against the other, eager to claim the prize—plus two bonus elflings, albeit dark-haired ones—for itself.

"'Ere now," challenged the leader of the Orcs that had been pursuing the elflings. "'Ere now, hands off those pointy-ears! We bin chasin' 'em fer days! They be ours!"

"'Zat so?" sneered the captain of the other band, which I shall call the southern band for convenience. "Well, you didn' have no business chasin' 'em in _our_ territory, didja? You wuz told to go north, and bed cess to ye if'n ye didn' obey yer orders!"

The captain of the northern band snarled and brandished his scimitar.

"They wouldn' _be_ in yer territory wasn't fer us. Ye've been strollin' along like whiteskins, and we done all the work—and we mean to 'ave the reward in hand what goes wit' the work!"

"Ye won't never have no reward in hand," growled the captain of the southern band, "'cause ye won't never have no hand!"

With that, the southern captain suited actions to words and hacked off the hand of the northern captain. A regular pandemonium broke out then as the Orcs on either side threw themselves whole-heartedly into battle—their hearts in some cases being the only parts of their anatomy that remained long undivided. The horrified elflings dropped their bows and flung themselves upon the ground as various bodily parts flew about. Haldir let out a yelp when he was slapped in the face by a disembodied hand, and Elrohir wailed when he was kicked in the seat by a boot that was attached to a leg sheered off at the hip.

After a considerable amount of hacking and slashing, the two bands were down to one Orc each. The two stood facing each other, mindlessly taking turns whacking each other.

"Whack!"

"Whack!"

"Whack!"

The sword arm of one Orc went flying. Retrieving his sword with his remaining arm, he returned the favor, and his opponent's arm landed next to Elladan, who winced and tightly squeezed his eyes shut.

"Whack!"

"Whack!"

"Whack!"

Now the first Orc's leg went flying after his arm. Balancing on his remaining leg, he again returned the favor.

For a little while longer, the Orcs, each now down to one arm and one leg, continued to flail at each other, but at last both Orcs quietly toppled over.

The three elflings regarded one another and then retrieved their bows and began to cautiously back away from the scene. Just as they were about to turn and run, however, another Orc appeared over the crest of the hill. This one was taller than most Orcs, and—Anomen!—the goblin had a firm grip on Anomen! As one, three elflings drew and nocked arrows.

"Hold! Hold!" came a muffled voice from behind the Orc helmet. The goblin let go of Anomen, seized the helmet, and yanked it off.

"Mithrandir!" cried Haldir and the twins.

"Yes," said Gandalf, scratching hard at his newly revealed beard. "Anomen, you said Elrond would send out searchers, but I hardly expected him to dispatch elflings!"

"Oh, we weren't dispatched," Elladan assured him. "We're not supposed to be here."

"Really! Imagine that! Well, if that is the case, let us make haste to depart this land. Anomen and I have quite a band of Orcs on our tail—very persistent ones, I might add."

"Oh, you, too," murmured Haldir in sympathetic tones.

Gandalf stared at him but said nothing. Elrohir leaped into the breach.

"Anomen, you were right," he said contritely. "You _did_ know that Mithrandir had gotten himself into some sort of trouble."

"Yes, yes," interrupted Gandalf, who was not eager to encourage a discussion along those lines. "You must understand that at the moment we really can't spare any time for touching reunions. As I have said, Orcs pursue us, and they are only a league behind us, at best. If need be, I'll employ my staff to fend them off, but I fear that the resulting pyrotechnic display will draw even more foes upon us. The best device for securing our safety lies in our feet."

Gandalf began to shoo the elflings in front of him. Each time they began to talk, to catch one another up on their adventures, he urged them to restrain themselves.

"There will be time for that later," he scolded. "Move along! move along!"

"Now I know," he murmured to himself, "how a goose must feel when trying to guide goslings that paddle every which way."

And so with Gandalf shepherding them, the flock of elflings flew north.


	9. Diversionary Tactics

**_Legosgurl_****: I don't know if I'd want to call Gandalf 'cute', but I suppose he is endearing in a gruff sort of way.**

**_Dragonfly: _The scene was meant to be funny, so I'm glad you laughed. I was indebted to _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_ for it, although in the scene that inspired me, one knight is left with all his limbs, while the other is left with none. The maimed knight, down to trunk and head, continues to threaten the other, who says in exasperation, "What are you going to do, bleed on me?" If I could have worked that line in, I would have!**

_Nathalia__ Potter:_ Well, that would be one solution. Alternatively, you say that the 14 nuggets melted down in Part B came out of the 22 nuggets he had at the end of Part A. If that is the case, he is left not with 22 gold nuggets and 7 gold chains, but with 8 gold nuggets and the 7 chains. He he!

**_Karri:_ Thank you. That's what I was trying to do—to combine action with humor.**

**_Joee_****: Who's to say that Elrohir won't try to claim credit at a later date? After all, there was no time for explanations, was there? When there _is_ time for explanations, perhaps, just perhaps, Elrohir will spin a tale of elfling cleverness and bravery.**

Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_

**Chapter 9: Diversionary Tactics**

Glorfindel dismounted from his horse and stooped to carefully examine the tracks.

"A fair-sized party of Orcs," he observed to his lieutenant, "judging from the variety amongst the tracks—differing in size, differing in foot gear."

The scout nodded and moved off to examine his own portion of the trail. After a few seconds he gave a shout and beckoned to Glorfindel. He pointed down at his feet as he spoke to the balrog-slayer.

"Either this track was made by an exceptionally small Orc, or an elfling has passed this way."

"Aye," Glorfindel agreed thoughtfully. "Now, the question is, was the owner of that foot being followed by the Orcs, or is he already in their hands and being dragged along. For he surely did not journey in the wake of those goblins—see where more than one Orc print has overlaid the elven one, so that it is lucky that you could make it out?"

"True, and I should be very sorry to think that an elfling trained at Imladris would be foolish enough to trot along in a path broken by Orcs!"

"I as well. Tell the other scouts to mount up. In the end, it matters little whether the elfling is in the hands of the Orcs or yet pursued by them. The Lady was right: our elfling is traveling south, and so must we."

Of course, if Glorfindel and his scouts had searched the ground a little further, they would have discovered that not only were the Orc tracks many and varied; they would have made the same discovery about the elfling trail as well. Elladan and Elrohir were of a size, but Haldir was taller and heavier than either. Moreover, his boots were of a different design. It would have been soon apparent to the searchers that at least two elflings had passed that way if they had happened upon one of Haldir's prints. But the matter escaped their notice.

It was also to escape the notice of Elrond, for he and his scouts did not even trouble themselves to look for elfling tracks. As Glorfindel was presumably following Anomen, it seemed to Elrond that it was only necessary to follow the trail left by Glorfindel and his scouts, which in any event was much easier to descry than any of the subtle marks that might have been left by an elfling. And at first the trail of Glorfindel and his company did indeed prove easy to follow. Moreover, to Elrond's great relief, throughout Dunland no Orc tracks coincided with those of elven horses. 'Perhaps', Elrond reassured himself, 'neither Anomen nor Glorfindel encountered the goblins'.

Thus Elrond and his company rode forth in confidence—in confidence, that is, until they arrived in the vicinity of Fangorn Forest. Taurmeldir, who had taken the point, cantered back to report a strange finding.

"Yonder is a trail that shows elven horses heading directly north, yet from the same point a trail heads off to the northeast. And yet another trail leads to the south. Which trail are we to follow?"

Elrond rode with Taurmeldir to the spot where the three trails branched. He studied the ground briefly and then spoke.

"I can read this riddle," he said. "Elven horses road to the north, directly into Fangorn Forest. I would warrant that they were making for Isengard. But, see, there are the marks of returning horses. They went to Isengard, but came again to this spot. Now as for the horses making for the northeast, I deem they bypassed southern Fangorn in order to make for Lothlórien. Again, they returned to this spot. But, mark you, no horses return from the south. They learned something either at Isengard or in Lórien that resolved them to search for Anomen in that direction, and that is the way we must ride."

The Elves turned their horses' heads toward the south and galloped across the plain. It was then that they saw that the trail left by their friends and kinsmen had merged with a trail led by Orcs likewise traveling south.

"Glorfindel and his scouts were still safe at this point," observed Elrond as he studied the tracks, "for their horses have overridden the marks left by the goblins. Anomen, however, may be in grave peril, either a prisoner of the Orcs or pursued by him."

He did not wish to utter another possibility: if they backtracked the Orc trail to the north, would they find Anomen's body—or what was left of it? Elrond comforted himself with this thought: presumably Glorfindel had reason to believe that Anomen still lived, else he would not be leading his scouts this way. Perhaps he had found a sign. Elrond ordered that the ground be examined with great care, but the search was fruitless. The few elfling prints that had not been destroyed by the passage of the Orcs had been obliterated by the hooves of the horses. Elrond was forced to proceed on hope alone. They rode on.

After they had traversed several more miles, Taurmeldir gave a sudden shout of joy. Elrond urged his horse to his side. There, unblemished, was one lone print, smallish in size and undeniably showing the mark of a Rivendell boot. As he gazed upon it, Elrond could not help but marvel at how much Anomen had grown over the past several months.

"Taurmeldir, I would have hardly recognized that mark for Anomen's, so much has he grown! One would almost think him of a size with Elladan and Elrohir. Remarkable, considering how little he eats at each meal."

"Perhaps he has been purloining more food than usual from the kitchen," Taurmeldir suggested.

"Ah, yes, I had forgotten. He is much better at such thievery than either Elladan or Elrohir. Indeed, I think on occasion that, when the Cook has accused the twins of filching sweets, it has in fact been Anomen who was the culprit."

The Elves' spirits were considerably lifted by the discovery of the footprint, and they eagerly rode on toward the south. They were not sure whether or not Anomen was a captive, but at least they could be certain that the lad had been alive in the not too distant past.

With that same thought in mind, the other elven band, Glorfindel's, also continued to push south. Suddenly a scout riding point galloped back to report to Glorfindel.

"A new trail has joined those left by the Orcs. I deem it to have been laid down by Men—Rohirrim, no doubt."

Glorfindel accompanied him back to the point at which the new trail intersected the old one and dismounted to carefully search the ground.

"The Riders came on the scene before the Orcs," he announced at last. "No orcish print is overlaid by a mannish one, but many of the mannish ones are overlaid by those of the goblins. However, I find no sign of any elfling prints."

Glorfindel straightened himself and gazed toward the south.

"Perhaps any elfling prints were utterly obliterated by those that followed. In that case, the Rohirrim may be tracking Anomen. I find it hard to believe, however, that a troop of Riders would be concerned enough over the tracks of a solitary Elf so small in size to take the trouble to track him. Perhaps, however, they encountered the lad, and he managed to persuade them to take him up and convey him to the south."

"Is it not rather more likely that they would carry him to Edoras? Whatever would possess them to ride south with him?"

Glorfindel laughed.

"Anomen's wide and innocent blue eyes," he chuckled. "And mayhap the mention of a certain wizard. Yes, I warrant that Mithrandir's name would have a powerful effect upon the Riders of Rohan. Well, if Anomen is—or was—in the hands of the Rohirrim, at least during that time he would have been safe."

Now following the combined trail of Orc and Rohirrim, the Elves rode without stopping until they reached the southern border of Rohan. At that point the trail of the Orcs continued southward, but that of the Riders veered off to the northwest.

'No doubt the Riders are making for Edoras', mused Glorfindel. 'Do they bear Anomen with them, or have they set him down to proceed on foot—and alone?'

Glorfindel ordered his scouts to search widely, but they found no elfling prints. Glorfindel knew, however, that the Orc tracks may have covered over the marks left by a small Elf. Hitherto, it had been by luck alone that they had occasionally come upon a print. What to do?

'If he is with the Rohirrim', he said to himself, 'then he is safe, it is true. However, if he is alone, then he may be in grave danger. If we make for Edoras and he is not there, then we will have lost valuable time. Very well, then, we must behave as if he is alone and heading ever closer to Mordor. Only in that fashion can we be quite certain that, one way or the other, he is not left bereft of the protection of his elders'.

The Elves passed out of the territory of the Rohirrim and followed the Orc trail for several leagues, all eyes intently studying the ground for any sign of Anomen. At last one of the outriders, highly excited, abruptly wheeled his horse about and came galloping back to the main company.

"My Lord Glorfindel," he shouted, "I have found elfling prints over yonder, apart from the Orc trail!"

As excited as the scout, Glorfindel accompanied the scout to the spot where he had picked up the trail. Sure enough, there were elfling prints, unmarred, and heading toward a distant cliff. "He is not a captive," exulted Glorfindel. "But I wonder," he added, "at his giving the Orcs the slip. This trail is very plain to see."

"Perhaps the Orcs passed this place during the daylight hours," suggested the scout, "when their vision would have been confused by the sunlight."

"True. If they were following hard on his heels, not stopping at dawn, that choice may have redounded upon them. Well, whatever may be the cause for their overlooking the elfling, we can give thanks to the Valar that the danger to Anomen is now much reduced."

As Glorfindel spoke, Anomen, huddled with Haldir and the twins, looked back anxiously at Gandalf. The wizard, crouched behind a boulder, was peering back at their pursuers, who were on the plain below the hill the fugitives had just ascended.

"They draw nearer and nearer," he muttered to himself. "I must find some way to send them astray. Ah, I have it."

He returned to the elflings and told them to hasten onward.

"If I do not rejoin you, continue to make your way north as quickly as you may."

All the elflings protested, but none so vehemently as Anomen.

"Anomen," Gandalf said gently, "you feel that there is a bond between us, is that not so?"

"Yes," said Anomen. "That is why I do not wish you to go. If they catch you, they will kill you! I couldn't bear it!"

'If they catch me', Gandalf thought to himself, 'I will _wish_ that they would kill me. Unfortunately, they probably won't'. Aloud, however, he said, "As there is a bond between us, Anomen, if I were to fall, I would live on in you. If you survive, I survive."

Gandalf turned to Haldir and the twins.

"Elladan, Elrohir, and Haldir, it is up to you to see that Anomen returns safely to Rivendell. Can you do this?"

Gandalf's request, putting a grave responsibility onto the shoulders of the older elflings, at once transformed them into his allies, as the sly wizard had known it would.

Proclaimed Elrohir solemnly, "I swear to the Valar to do all within my power to see that Anomen remains well and returns to Imladris."

Elladan and Haldir swore oaths of equal gravity, and then the twins and the Lórien elfling laid restraining hands on Anomen, who had begun to cry. Gandalf, meanwhile, took the Orc helmet, which had been dangling from his waist, and clapped it on his head. Then he strode back toward the edge of the hill. Only once did he glance over his shoulder. The elflings had not moved from their place. "Fly, you fools," shouted Gandalf, feigning an anger that he did not feel. Haldir and the twins forced Anomen about and began to drag him north.

Gandalf once more crouched behind the boulder and peered down the hill. The Orcs had drawn even closer and were no doubt within hailing distance. Gandalf leaped out from his hiding place and began to run pell-mell down the slope, stumbling and sliding on the scree. As he ran, he gesticulated wildly, pointing toward the west. He began to shout in the Black Speech.

"They are fleeing west, toward Gondor," the 'Orc' screeched. "I saw them from up yonder! Hurry, or you will lose them to the humans!" The band of Orcs instantly wheeled about and began to lope toward the west. Gandalf waited until they were out of sight and then made haste to regain the elflings. He kept the helmet on as a precaution.

Since Anomen had been struggling to break free, the elflings had not gotten very far. When the twins and Haldir saw their 'Orc' approaching, they released their hold on Anomen, and he raced back to the wizard, throwing himself into his arms. An 'oomph!' was forced from the Istar's lungs.

'It is good to be loved so', the wizard thought to himself as he gently stroked the elfling's hair. 'I shall miss the lad when I am recalled from Middle-earth—yes, and there are others whom I shall miss. Howsoever', he continued, briskly shaking himself out of his reverie, 'this is neither the time nor the place for indulging in these thoughts'. Taking Anomen by the hand, he led him back toward Haldir and the twins. "Hurry," Gandalf urged when he and Anomen had rejoined the others. "I have sent the Orcs astray, but when they arrive at terrain that is less stony, the cleverer amongst them may notice that there are no tracks in the softer ground and will realize that we did not pass that way. They will return again at least as fast as they departed!"

Gandalf and the elflings ran toward the north. The wizard did not intend to allow them to stop for rest until they had gained the safety of a settlement. If need be, he would carry any elfling who faltered. The Orcs also had not meant to rest. Suddenly, however, the leader of the band called the pursuit to an abrupt halt.

"'Ere now," he exclaimed to his lieutenant. "Didja hear what that Orc said back there?"

"Of course, I did. Said they was heading west. So why'er we stoppin'?"

"He said _they_ was heading west. Now, what _they_ would that be?"

"Huh?"

"You idjit, don' you know no grammar? We been chasing one old fool. That would be a _he_? So where did this _they_ come from? And where did that Orc come from? How'd 'e even know what we was about?"

"I dunno."

"Well, I _do_. That old Man fooled us once, makin' us believe he'd gone and gotten himself strung up by spiders. Now he's tryin' to fool us agin—and he's got _help_—that's what the _they_ is, I'll warrant. Thought it was pe-cul-yer he managed to get out o' the keep. Musta had con-fed-er-its, that's what. Boys," the leader bellowed, "back to that hill. We hain't gonna find no old fool hereabouts."

The Orcs reversed course, and, running even faster than formerly, they raced back the way they had come.


	10. Water Into Miruvor

**_Terreis_****: I'm glad you are feeling better, and I'm glad the story helped cheer you up. Yes, I have so much fun trying to sneak in the movie (and book!) quotations, and I am glad when someone spots them. It's kind of like an "I spy" game, I guess. I agree: I think Glorfindel can be forgiven for not looking for traces of elflings that presumably are back safe in Imladris anyway. Yes, it's really bad to have a smart Orc, even if only marginally. Oooh, I like that: "a Who's Who of Pursuers and Pursuees." He he! Hmm. I haven't shown Erestor in awhile. Maybe it's time for a 'meanwhile back at the ranch' chapter. I am a bit vain about my Orcs, so you shouldn't encourage me!**

**_Karri: _Well, at least Gandalf's ploy bought them some time—just not as much time as he hoped.**

**_Dragonfly: _Yes, I did enjoy the conference. Hey, what do you mean, its "location"? Are you, ahem, employing that I went down there for the warm, sunny weather and the pool surrounded by palm trees? Perish the thought!**

**_Legosgurl_: Well, I guess maybe Gandalf could be considered cute.**

**_Joee_: Yes, Gandalf was indeed very sly. By treating them as if they were mature, he motivated them to behave accordingly. He would make a wonderful father, I think. Uh oh, I just had an idea. No! no! Someone stop me before I write again!**

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly**

**Chapter 10: Water Into Miruvor**

As Glorfindel and his scouts followed the trail of elfling footprints, they perceived that they led directly toward the base of a cliff. When they reached the cliff, they saw that the prints went into some bushes. A scout crawled in after them and reemerged with a sword, which he handed to Glorfindel.

"Here is a sword that the elfling came upon yet left," mused Glorfindel. "I suppose he found it too heavy to wield."

He studied the weapon carefully.

"I know this sword," he announced at last. The scout smiled. The balrog-slayer was famous for never forgetting a sword.

"That dent there, and those scratches—I was present when the sword acquired them. Mithrandir tried decapitating an Orc whose throat was protected by a gorget, and whilst swinging at a second Orc, he scraped the sword against a column that the goblin dove behind. I offered to have the dent taken out and the scratches polished away, but he was always in too much of a rush to have it done. He said it was 'an aesthetic issue only' and that 'the sword was no less useful'."

Glorfindel uttered those last lines in a passable imitation of Gandalf's raspy voice, and the scout broke into a full grin. Yes, that was just the sort of thing that the gruff wizard would say. He was notoriously unconcerned about appearances, from the dirt on the hem of his robe, to the untidiness of his beard.

"Strange, though," Glorfindel continued, "that there don't seem to be any of Mithrandir's prints anywhere about. How did the sword get here, then? It can't have flown!"

He looked all about. Then he looked up. The scout followed his glance.

"You think he came down the cliff?"

"The sword did, anyway," replied Glorfindel. "That can be the only explanation for its presence in the absence of itsowner."

"Shall we ascend the cliff to investigate?"

Glorfindel shook his head.

"Only if Anomen has gone that way. If Elrond is right and Anomen is being drawn to Mithrandir, then, if we find the elfling, we find the wizard."

"And if Elrond is not right?"

"Then I am afraid that Mithrandir shall have to fend for himself. Our first duty is to recover Anomen. However, I believe Elrond is correct in his supposition. How else to explain the fact that Anomen's trail led us directly to this spot, to Mithrandir's sword."

"It seems hard to believe that an elfling could be drawn so many leagues by an uncanny connection with a wizard."

"True, but it is not impossible. And, my friend, when you have eliminated the impossible, that which remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

The Elves searched carefully around the base of the cliff and determined that Anomen's tracks led away from it. Glorfindel secured Gandalf's sword to his saddle, and he and his scouts resumed their search for the elfling.

Following in their wake, although still leagues away, were Elrond and his company. They were well into Rohirrim territory when they saw dust in the distance and heard the thunder of hooves. Observed Taurmeldir, "The Rohirrim are aware of our presence and ride to investigate."

Elrond agreed, and ordered all to dismount, to keep their swords sheathed, and to hold their bows loosely, leaving their arrows in their quivers.

"We are not a war party," he said.

Some of the Elves looked uneasy. Elrond strove to reassure them.

"The Riders of Rohan are Men of honor. They will not assail those who cross their land out of need, with no purpose other than to rescue a kinsman."

The Rohirrim rode up at a full gallop, spears in hand, but when they saw that the trespassers had dismounted and had adopted a pacific stance, their leader signaled to them to return their weapons to their rests. Then he dismounted and approached the Elf whom he deemed to be the captain of the elven company. As he drew near, he realized it was the Lord Elrond himself. Under his helm, the Man turned pale. Hitherto, relations between the Rohirrim and the Elves of Imladris had been cordial. Had he imperiled them by assisting the elfling in his journey? For he had no doubt that the Elves had come to this place in search of the young one. He removed his helmet and bowed respectfully.

"Lord Elrond, I am honored at your presence," the Man began carefully, "as I would be honored by the presence of anyone from your household. I would be pleased to assist you in any way, as I would be pleased to assist anyone from your household."

Elrond raised his eyebrows even as he inclined his head to acknowledge the greeting.

"And have the Rohirrim lately had any occasion to assist anyone from my household?"

The Man put on a delighted expression.

"I am glad to be able to say that, yes, we have. Recently it has been our pleasure to provide provisions to one who eats at your table, aye, and more: it was within our power to carry him further on his path and to put him down close to his destination. We would have denied nothing to a kinsman of Elrond of Rivendell."

Elrond had to grudgingly admit to himself that the Man had chosen his words very carefully, so carefully that he could not take offense at the Man's actions. Indeed, had the situation been less dire, he would have laughed at the Rider's cleverness. However, the situation was dire. He could not laugh, but he did answer with equal courtesy.

"This traveler whom you assisted, was he rather small as Elves go?"

"Why, yes, he was! But he was clearly an Elf, and thus no doubt much older than he looked and therefore capable of great deeds. So we did not hesitate to help him on his way."

"I am touched by your confidence in my kinsman's abilities," said Elrond sardonically.

"Oh, do not mention it!"

There was a trace of a smile about the mouths of both Man and Elf. Each knew that there would be no rupture between Rohan and Rivendell on account of the fugitive elfling.

"We are desirous of checking on the progress of our small but brave warrior," Elrond continued. "Where did you encounter him?"

"Not far from here. We can guide you there."

Here the Rider looked down at the ground and frowned.

"But I see that others have been here before us—those are Orc tracks!"

"Aye, and as you see, the marks of elven horses not our own are laid over them. We are not the only ones who pursue our kinsman. Another band of Elves set out earlier, and we fear lest they have encountered the Orcs who left this trail."

"We will convey you as rapidly as possible to the point on our border where we parted from the elfling. We dare not cross that border, for then we would risk open warfare with—with a power to the south of us. But we shall remain encamped there, so that we will be near if you need assistance on your return journey to the north."

His real meaning was unspoken but understood. If the Elves ventured into the land of the Dark Lord in order to rescue Anomen, it was likely that they would be pursued on their return. The Rider was offering to serve as a rear guard. Elrond was genuinely moved. His smile in return was open, with no touch of mockery or playfulness.

"I thank you," he said with unmistakable sincerity, and then he surprised the Rider by bowing deeply.

"Well," said Rider gruffly, trying not to seem too impressed by the gesture, "we had better mount up."

He suited actions to words, and the Elves did likewise. Together, Man and Elf, they galloped southward. When they neared the border of Rohan, the Rohirrim, as promised, dismounted and commenced setting up camp. The Elves meanwhile rode on and boldly crossed the frontier. The Fair Folk were not concerned with maintaining an uneasy peace with the forces of Sauron, for there was no such peace to be maintained. The hand of the Orc was ever raised against each and every Elf. If an Orc encountered an Elf, he would try to slay him, and the Elf, knowing the inveterate hatred of Orc for Elf, would not hesitate to return the favor.

Some say that the Orcs had an especial hatred for Elves because, corrupted though the Orcs were, they still somehow dimly sensed that the Eldar possessed all that they had forfeited: beauty, grace, wisdom, and, above all, love. The Elves were reminders to the Orcs of the depths of their depravity, and they were obsessed with obliterating these living rebukes from the face of Middle-earth.

Whatever the reason for the hatred of Orc for Elf, Elrond did not spare any time for reflection upon the matter, for all his thoughts dwelled upon Anomen and Glorfindel—where they were, whether they were safe.

On the company rode. In due course, they reached the point where Glorfindel and his scouts had abandoned the Orc trail and begun to follow the tracks of the solitary elfling.

Oddly, the elfling footprints looked a little smaller to Elrond than the print they had earlier discovered, but he dismissed that as a trick of either light or memory. What mattered most to the Lord of Imladris was this evidence that both Anomen and Glorfindel were following a course separate from that of the Orcs. With relief and hope, he and the others journeyed on.

Elrond would have felt considerably less of either emotion, however, had he known of Anomen's condition at that moment. Gandalf's shoulder had been getting worse—infection had set in—and therefore Anomen was becoming weaker and weaker. Trying very hard to conceal his dizziness and pain, the elfling marched on without complaint. At last he found himself laboring to keep up with the others as they climbed a hill. When they reached the top, without saying a word, he collapsed.

The other elflings at once looked expectantly toward Gandalf.

"I don't know what you are all staring at me for," said the wizard irritably, although his real feelings were of fear and concern.

"You are going to heal Anomen with your magic," said Haldir.

"I can't change water into miruvor, if that's what you think."

"But you can do _something_," said Elrohir, looking at the wizard piteously. "You are a powerful wizard and can do anything you please. Except change water into miruvor," he added hastily.

"You certainly have exaggerated expectations about the power of magic," Gandalf harrumphed. "I suppose you think that all problems may be solved by waving a wand and chanting 'abracadabra'. Well, you have been reading too many fairy tales. The real world doesn't work that way."

"Not to mention," the wizard added grumblingly, "in the real world there _are_ no fairies."

"We know that," said Elrohir indignantly. "We're elflings, not infants!"

"Yes," added Elladan, equally indignant. "Fairies! The very idea!"

"I am glad to know," said the wizard, "that your notions of reality are grounded in, well, _reality_!"

"Excuse me," said Haldir timidly, "but, in reality, Anomen is still very much in a faint."

Gandalf instantly forgot his irritation. Kneeling by Anomen, he took the lad's hand in his and rubbed it while muttering some words under his breath. The elfling's eyes fluttered open.

"I am sorry, Mithrandir," were the first words out of his mouth.

"You haven't anything to be sorry for," the wizard said kindly, "unless it is wrong to care for another and journey through great danger and difficulty to rescue him from torture and despair."

"But I am slowing down your escape!"

"Ah, but do remember that there wouldn't have been any escape in the first place if you hadn't made your way to Cirith Ungol."

"Well, he's slowing down _our_ escape, too," interjected Elrohir, rather unhelpfully, it may be added. Gandalf shot him a fierce look from under his bristling eyebrows.

"I don't believe anyone invited _you_ along on this expedition, Master Elrohir, so any difficulties you find yourself in are of your own making."

Thoroughly quelled, Elrohir fell silent and dropped his eyes under not only Gandalf's withering gaze but the indignant glances of Haldir and Elladan.

"Now, then," said Gandalf, returning his attention to Anomen, "you must drink a little water and have a few bites of both bread and meat."

"Is there much left?"

"You needn't be concerned about that. If necessary, I will conjure up more than enough food and drink for us all—aye, and turn the water into miruvor while I'm at it."

"But you said—" Haldir began.

"Never you mind what I said, Master Haldir!"

Gandalf sent the Lórien elfling a look as fierce as the one he had visited upon Elrohir, and Haldir was silenced just as effectively. Looking on, Elladan resolved not to say anything more himself until they were safely back in Rivendell.

Urged by Gandalf, Anomen managed to swallow a few bites of food, and then Gandalf held a water bladder up to Anomen's lips and encouraged him to drink.

"Well done," Gandalf said with a show of joviality. "Are you ready for a pick-a-back ride, with an Orc as a mount?"

In spite of the food and drink, Anomen still felt faint.

"Truly, Mithrandir, I am not sure I can keep hold round your neck."

"Ah, no matter," replied Gandalf, still feigning cheerfulness. "I will carry you in my arms."

This would of course be rather hard on Gandalf's shoulder, but he was not about to let on that he was in difficulty. He handed the pack to Elrohir, scooped up the elfling, and trudged on, talking lightly as he went of how they would all soon be ensconced in comfortable beds.

"Once we have crossed into Rohan," he said, "doubtless we shall encounter a Rohirrim patrol, and they will take us straightaway to Edoras. There we shall loll about whilst a message is sent to Imladris. Elrond will at once dispatch a troop to escort us all home in grand style."

Listening to Gandalf's comforting voice, Anomen's eyes glazed over. Unexpectedly, however, he spoke in an odd sing-song voice, as if he were in a trance.

"Mi-thran-dir," he chanted, "they're baa-aack."

At once the wizard halted. He carefully laid Anomen upon the ground.

"Do you suppose," he said anxiously to Haldir and the twins, "do you suppose, if worst came to worst, that you could make shift to carry him?"

"We will do our best," said Elrohir stoutly.

"There's a good lad," exclaimed Gandalf, his earlier anger forgotten. "I am going to go back a short distance, in order to see whether we are once again being followed."

Gandalf retraced his steps until he went out of sight around a bend in the trail. In a little while the alarmed elflings saw him running back at full speed.

"The Orcs are on the hunt again," he gasped.

Without another word, he stooped down to pick up Anomen and then resumed running, Haldir and the twins at his side. The elflings knew that this might be a race to the death—Gandalf's death, anyway, for they understood that the wizard meant to sacrifice himself if they could not all make their escape. Haldir, Elladan, and Elrohir began to silently cry, and they were all three grateful that Anomen had slipped back into unconsciousness. Frightened and sad, on they ran by the side of their beloved wizard.


	11. The Spectacularly Speckled Wizard

**_Legosgurl_****: Oh, alright.**** Gandalf _can_ be cute—on occasion. But not when you get his dander up.**

**_Dragonfaeriex_: Yes, a wild goose chase! Exactly so!**

**_Karri: _So you hope that "the cavalry arrives soon." Hmmm. Maybe 'great minds think alike'.**

**_Dragonfly:_ Haley Joel Osment is correct. The character he played one the one who said "I see dead people." Although, come to think of it, I think the little girl from _Poltergeist_ does see them as well.**

**_ScarlettPendragon:_**** I confess 'evil cliffies' are becoming my preferred way to conclude (or not conclude, as it were!) chapters. Yes, you are right in expecting some "creative discipline" looming on the horizon for the twins, although not in this chapter but the next one. Thank you for your kind words about both this story and the series in general. Of course there is no way of knowing how many people enjoy these stories, but when a 'lurker' surfaces, it reminds me that they may have more readers than I know of. And as Gandalf once said, "That is an encouraging thought."  
**  
**Beta Reader: Dragonfly**

**Chapter 11: The Spectacularly Speckled Wizard**

Gandalf and his flock of elflings had been racing north for several hours, the company of Orcs in close pursuit. Suddenly Haldir cried, "I hear something—but to the north, not the south."

Gandalf at once called a halt, and all listened intently—save Anomen, of course, for he was still unconscious. Soon they could hear what Haldir had first noticed, and the sound was unmistakable.

"Riders approach from the north," wailed Elladan. "Once again we will be trapped between two bands of foes." Gandalf, however, suddenly smiled.

"Cease your caterwauling, Elladan," he exclaimed, although not unkindly. "When have you ever heard of Orcs mounted upon horses? No, the company that approaches must be made up of either Men or Elves."

Haldir had been listening carefully.

"They are elven horses," he said happily.

Sure enough, cresting a hill were Glorfindel and his company. They galloped at full tilt toward the fugitives.

Unfortunately, Gandalf had forgotten that he still had the helmet on. He was smiling underneath it until he realized that each of the approaching Elves had nocked an arrow, and each arrow was pointed at—him! With his arms full of elfling, he could hardly pull off the helm. Not wishing to peremptorily drop Anomen, the wizard swiftly crouched down to make himself less of a target, and Haldir and the twins, realizing his peril, huddled about the wizard and flung their arms around him.

Of course, Glorfindel thought that the 'Orc' was using Anomen and the others as a shield. "Release the elflings," he shouted. "Relief the elflings or prepare to die a terrible death."

"I am not holding any elflings," Gandalf shouted back. "They are holding me! And I would be very grateful if you would take them off my hands!"

The balrog-slayer had been astonished to encounter not one but four elflings. He was likewise astonished at hearing Gandalf's voice issuing forth from under an orcish helm. However, he hid his amazement well. Calmly he gestured for his scouts to lower their weapons, and then he dismounted. The twins and Haldir stepped back from Gandalf. The wizard laid Anomen, who was now awake, gently upon the ground and then arose and pulled off the helmet. Glorfindel approached the wizard and handed him his sword.

"I am sorry, Mithrandir, that this is not a scimitar. It spoils the effect of your costume I am afraid."

"Ha ha," said Gandalf dryly, hefting his sword gratefully. He was going to need it, and soon. "Glorfindel, Orcs pursue us. Shall we try to outrun them, or would you prefer an ambush? To flee or not to flee, that is the question."

"Oh, an ambush, by all means!"

"Yes, I thought that would be your choice."

The elflings were sent to the rear, the twins and Haldir helping Anomen walk, while Gandalf and the Elves took up positions behind boulders. They concealed themselves none too soon. Here came a fair-sized band of Orcs, marching quick-time. The Elves let the goblins approach until they were well within bowshot, and then Glorfindel gave the signal. A storm of arrows rained down upon the Orcs, and many fell in that first volley. To the Elves' disappointment, however, the survivors at once turned tail and fled. The archers got off a second volley before the goblins could scuttle completely out of bow range; still, several escaped, so both Glorfindel and Gandalf knew that reinforcements would be summoned.

"We had best flee after all," observed Glorfindel. "A larger force will return, and this time we won't be able to take them by surprise."

Two of Glorfindel's smaller scouts doubled up so that Gandalf could have a horse. The wizard took Anomen up before him, and each of the other elflings was similarly bestowed upon a rider. They then began to ride north as quickly as they could, although Glorfindel knew that on the broken ground they could not ride much faster than the Orcs could run. As they were a small band, a search party rather than a war party, they would be in grave danger until they could reach Rohan. Even then their safety might not be assured, for the Orcs might pursue them onto the plain.

The scout bringing up the rear gave a shout, and Glorfindel twisted about in his saddle to look back. He almost gasped in his dismay at the sight that greeted him. Orcs were cresting the summit of a hill behind them, and as he watched, the hill's slope turned black with the armored goblins pouring down it. Swiftly the Elf looked about for a defensible position, but he quickly abandoned the plan. Yonder was a hill upon which they might make a stand, but, although they would be able to hold out for a time, they would be surrounded by a vastly superior course, and they would face an inevitable outcome: death or, worse, capture and torture.

"Noro lim!" shouted Glorfindel to his companions. But the ground at this point was particularly rocky, and their foes on foot could in fact make better time than their horses. The Orcs began to swarm to either side of them, and Glorfindel knew that soon some of the goblins would draw ahead of them. When they came to another hill, Glorfindel now commanded all to dismount save the elflings. Anomen was put on Haldir's horse, for the Lórien elfling was the oldest and largest of the four and perhaps had a chance of keeping a grip upon him. For good measure, Gandalf swiftly tied a rope around Anomen's waist and then looped it around the horse.

"Get your horses into the center of the herd and crouch down," Glorfindel ordered the elflings. They obeyed, and then Glorfindel shouted to the horses that they should make with all speed for Rohan. As the horses broke for the north, the Elves launched volley after volley of arrows at the Orcs to distract them from the steeds, and the goblins, not spying the elflings flattened upon the horses, ignored the animals and concentrated on the older Elves, who, loosing arrows as they ran, were ascending the hill. Soon the horses were out of sight, and Glorfindel turned his attention to holding off the Orcs as long as possible and taking out as many goblins as they could before the end. The Elves formed a circle at the top of the hill, and sheltering behind boulders, they picked off Orc after Orc with their bows. At last, however, they had expended all their arrows, and they drew sword and prepared for the final assault of the Orcs. Gandalf drew his sword as well. Glorfindel noticed that the wizard did not hold the sword in his usual hand, but the balrog-slayer had no time to wonder why. The Orcs drew nearer and nearer, and the Elves could hear their coarse talk, uttered in the Common Speech so that the Elves would know what the goblins had planned for their intended victims. Lesser beings would have blanched at the taunts, but the Elves kept their countenances. All they concentrated on now was bringing down as many Orcs as possible before their own deaths, which they hoped would be honorable, if not swift.

Gandalf looked at his staff, held in his sword hand.

"I might as well use it," he said to Glorfindel, "for doing so will not alert our foes to our presence—it is obvious that they already know we are here! So, although I can't dispense with all these Orcs, at least I can send a few on their way in a spectacular fashion that will be the talk of Mordor for some time to come."

Gandalf cast aside his sword and switched his staff to his good arm. The wizard pointed the rod toward the closest band of goblins and muttered an incantation. With a loud explosion, a ball of flame shot out from the end of the staff and enveloped the Orcs. Shrieking, the few that could still stand fled back down the hill, smoke streaming from their garments, but they were immediately replaced by more Orcs. Gandalf sighed and raised his staff again. Suddenly, not only the Orcs he was pointing at but all the Orcs on the hill turned and fled down the slope. Gandalf chortled a little. His self-satisfaction was soon tempered, however, by the realization that something other than his staff had rattled the Orcs. He heard hoof beats and turned to see the horses returning. To his surprise and joy, they were accompanied by yet more horses—and the riders upon these steeds were not elflings but armed Elves. The fleeing horses had come upon Elrond's company and had led them straightaway to their besieged kinsmen. It was the sudden appearance of this new band of elven warriors that, when combined with the power of Gandalf's staff and the doughtiness of Glorfindel's Elves, had at last unnerved the Orcs so utterly that they had turned tail and fled.

Glorfindel and his company descended the hill and greeted their kinsmen. They did not linger long over this reunion, however.

"The Orcs may return," Glorfindel pointed out. "Frightened though they be, their masters likely will drive them back into the fray."

"Aye," agreed Elrond. "Let us make haste to the north. A little further on, the ground grows less rocky, and we will be able to make good speed to the border of Rohan. There we will find that friends await us."

Gandalf looked about anxiously.

"I do not see the elflings. Did you send them on to these friends?"

"Yes, all of them," replied Elrond, shaking his head in bemusement. "I am very curious," he continued, "as to how one elfling multiplied into four, but I suppose the tale—or tales—will have to wait until we are safely back at Imladris."

With that, all remounted and hastened toward the north. They were wise to have done so. The Orcs' masters were at this very moment shouting and cursing and flailing about with their whips. At last the Orc captains succeeded in forcing the rabble of goblins into something resembling an army, and they moved out, also making for the north.

Elrond had been right: they were not far from ground that was fairly flat, and once they reached it, they broke into a full gallop. Orcs, however, can move quickly at need, and it was not long before the elven scouts, looking back, could descry a dark cloud upon the horizon that swiftly came after them—and that against the wind. The Elves urged their horses on, racing for the border of Rohan, though they feared the Orcs would not shrink from crossing it in pursuit of them. Still, Elrond had said that friends awaited them, so even if the Orcs came after them, perhaps they could hope for aid from these unnamed allies.

The border of Rohan drew near. The Elves galloped over a small rise—and were met by an amazing sight: row after row after row of tents in ordered ranks. Amongst the tents swarmed Men innumerable. It seemed that the Rohirrim captain had more than kept his promise to Elrond: not only he had remained encamped by the border, but he had sent for reinforcements, and the better part of the army of Rohan now awaited them.

The Elves cantered into the camp, making for a tent before which stood a tall pole that bore the pennant of Rohan, a white horse galloping upon a green field. When they reached it, they dismounted, and the Rohirrim Captain came out to greet them.

Elrond bowed deeply to him.

"I see that you are a Man of your word."

The Rider bowed in return.

"As I said before," he replied, "I am only too glad to do what I can for the great Lord Elrond and those of his household."

His smile, Elrond noticed, was a trifle mischievous.

"I see," the Elf Lord continued, "that even now you are hosting some of my kinsmen."

"That is so," said the Captain. He turned and beckoned to Haldir and the twins, who were peeking out from behind the tent flap—Anomen lay sleeping within. The elflings were glad to see their kinsmen safe, of course, but they feared the punishment that they knew would soon be forthcoming. Elrond, however, had other concerns at the moment.

"No, I do not wish to speak to them now, for there is a small matter of an Orc army that pursues us."

"As to that," the Captain replied calmly, "you need have no fear." He gestured past Elrond, and the Elf Lord turned. Behind him the Orcs stood upon the rise, but at that place their progress had halted, for the goblins stared amazed at the force that was arrayed upon the plain. Not even the boldest of their captains was eager to take on the Rohirrim cavalry, and after a few minutes, the goblins retreated, slinking back into the relative safety of their own land—'relative' because they now had to fear retribution for their failure to recapture Gandalf.

The Orcs having vanished, Elrond turned to look again at the tent opening. The elflings, too, had vanished. No doubt they were huddled in various corners of the tent, hidden under bedding and behind boxes. Well, let them hide for the time being, Elrond said to himself. For now he was desirous only of seeing to Anomen, for when he had encountered the elflings upon horseback, he had seen that Haldir had been supporting the younger elfling.

"The smallest of the elflings may be ill or injured; may I enter the tent and examine him?" he asked the Rohirrim Captain.

"Of course. Please consider this tent your own, Lord Elrond, and enter it freely. I shall give orders that no Man shall hinder you at any time."

Elrond gravely thanked him and went into the tent. When he was gone, Gandalf, knowing that Anomen would be looked after, addressed Glorfindel.

"I noticed a water hole as we came onto the plain. I am going back to it."

"Pardon me," interjected the Rohirrim Captain, "but if you are speaking of the one just yonder, I am afraid its water is not potable. You will find a proper water hole to the north of the camp."

"Oh, I don't want to drink it—merely to bathe in it."

"It didn't look very clean," Glorfindel warned. "It was muddy and foul—quite a few dead animals were scattered about it."

"Ah, poisonous—excellent! I must make haste! And, Glorfindel, loan me some garments, will you?"

Puzzled, Glorfindel accompanied the wizard to the water hole, which, as the balrog-slayer had warned, was muddy and stank. Undeterred, Gandalf hastily stripped off his clothes and completely submerged himself beneath the noisome waters.

"Ah," he sighed contentedly when he finally came up for air. "That's done for them."

"Done for what?"

"The fleas and the lice. It is no wonder Orcs are so ill-tempered. I should be if I had to continually share my garments with parasites!"

Gandalf submerged himself several more times before he at last came crawling out of the stagnant water. Glorfindel shook his head and grinned at the sight of him.

"A speckled wizard."

"Speckled?" Gandalf looked down at his body. He was covered with red marks, each one no doubt marking the spot where he had been bitten by either a flea or a louse. "Why, yes, I do look rather as if I were covered by spots!"

"Don't scratch! You'll make matters worse."

Gandalf glared balefully at Glorfindel.

"_You_ try not to scratch when you are as flea-bitten as I am! This sort of thing was _not_ in the job description when I signed on to save Middle-earth."

"Why didn't you use your magic to rid yourself of the pests?"

"Glorfindel, you always hold your sword with its blade pointed away from you, isn't that so?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well, the first rule of wizarding is to never, ever point your staff toward your own person. Some day, when we have time, I shall have to tell you about the occasion when I set my own beard alight."

Glorfindel laughed heartily but suddenly sobered when he realized that Gandalf had been suffering from more than parasites.

"My friend, what is that wound upon your shoulder?"

"Oh," replied Gandalf cheerfully, "as you say, it is a wound upon my shoulder."

"An _infected_ wound upon your shoulder, Mithrandir. You must let me tend it."

Gandalf suddenly grew serious.

"Yes," he said thoughtfully. "I _had_ better let you tend it. More than _my_ comfort may be at stake."

Shrugging off the words of the wizard—Glorfindel was used to his enigmatic utterances—the balrog-slayer was all business, rinsing off the wound with clean water from his water bladder, anointing it with salve, and then wrapping it with strips torn from a reasonably clean corner of his bedroll.

Back at the camp, Elrond had been seeking to soothe a feverish Anomen. The lad had no visible injuries save for the patch of irritated skin over his birthmark. Elrond had bathed the reddened flesh with water into which he had cast athelas leaves, but it seemed to have done little good. Anxiously, Elrond cast about for another treatment. Suddenly, however, Anomen's eyes cleared somewhat, and the elfling felt an easing of the pain that had dogged him for the past several weeks. Elrond laid his hand upon his forehead.

"You feel a bit cooler," he said in relief.

"I'm hungry," announced Anomen, surprising even himself.

"Ah, _that's_ a good sign. Do you think you could manage a bit of lembas bread and a sip of miruvor?"

"Oh, yes," said Anomen eagerly.

With that, Anomen sat up and amazed Elrond both by devouring an entire piece of lembas bread and by draining a vial of miruvor. He would have gladly eaten a second piece of lembas bread, but Elrond stopped him.

"You will make yourself sick, Anomen! One small bite is enough to fill the stomach of a grown Man!"

Now Elrond insisted that Anomen rest. But Anomen began to clamor after Gandalf. Only when Elrond assured him that the wizard was safe did the elfling lie back down and allow himself to slip into a deep sleep untroubled by foul dreams.

Once Anomen was asleep, Elrond arose and looked about him. A suspiciously large lump lay under a blanket. Elrond walked over to it and yanked back the covering. A shamefaced Elrohir looked up at him timidly. For the time being, however, Elrond forbore scolding him.

"Come," he said to his son. "Anomen has eaten, and so should you. Let us see what these Rohirrim contrive by way of meals."

He raised his voice a little.

"You, too, Haldir and Elladan. Let us leave Anomen to his rest."

Haldir came out from behind a chest, and Elladan came out from _within_ one. Then together, Elf and elflings, they left the tent in search of supper. Behind them, Anomen slept on.


	12. Gandalf Scarecrow

**THE FINAL CHAPTER OF THIS STORY! (sniff, sniff)**

**_Joee_****: Yes, Elrond hands down his judgment upon the elflings in this chapter.**

**_Dragonfly:_ Any punishment meted out to the elflings will be no more than they deserve! But I wouldn't worry too much about them; these elflings are like cats: they always land on their feet.**

**_Karri:_ Thank you, _Karri_. I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. I hope you like the final chapter as well, although the ending has a bit of angst in it.**

**_Legosgurl_****: Oops! I've radically altered your image of Gandalf. I'm not sure Tolkien would thank me for that, even though I meant no disrespect. These stories arise out of love for the characters and the world he created.**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_. _Dragonfly_, I changed the paragraph in which Gimli is first mentioned and then made some other changes at the very end. I hope they clarified the situation.**

**Chapter 12: Gandalf Scarecrow**

His shoulder bandaged, Gandalf pulled on Glorfindel's spare leggings and tunic, and the two friends returned to the others. Elrohir gave a shout when Gandalf appeared in his borrowed garments, which were rather too large for him. The tunic nearly reached to his knees, the leggings had been rolled up, and the sleeves dangled so that the wizard's hands were nowhere to be seen.

"Mithrandir, have a care or a Man will mistake you for a scarecrow and try to plant you in his field!" the elfling shouted gleefully.

Gandalf quickly quelled him.

"If you crow so, Master Elrohir, I shall make you a crow. Though you do not fear me now, you will fear me then!"

Elrohir grew very quiet and, trying to make himself less of a target, attempted to shelter behind his brother. Elladan, however, not wishing to be caught up in the spell, scurried away to take refuge behind his father, leaving Elrohir to stare reproachfully after him. In a moment, however, Elrohir had even more reason to reproach Elladan, for he had attracted Elrond's attention, and now the Lord of Imladris gestured for both elflings to stand before him.

"How is it," he said sternly, "that the two of you, and your guest Haldir as well, came to be in these lands?"

"You said we might go camping, hunting, hiking, and swimming," Elrohir answered swiftly. "We haven't gone swimming yet, but we've done everything else. I'm sorry we haven't gone swimming, but we will as soon as an opportunity presents itself."

"You speak," said Elrond, "as if your only offense is to have not gone swimming."

"Well, we did say that we were going swimming," Elladan chimed in. "We wouldn't want you to think that we had told you a lie. If we didn't go swimming, it is only because of lack of opportunity."

"And you certainly wouldn't want to overlook any opportunity," said Elrond sardonically.

"Oh, no, Ada! Of course we wouldn't!" chorused the twins.

"No, I didn't think so. Well, I will think on this matter, and be sure that you will face punishment upon our return to Imladris. It only remains to determine the most appropriate penalty for your misconduct."

The twins exchanged mournful glances. Their father was famous for the appropriateness of his punishments. Steal off to ride horses when you were supposed to be studying in the library, and you would be set to cleaning stables for two turnings of the moon. Go swimming when you were supposed to be polishing armor, and be sure that you would spend a month hauling water for the Laundress. Oh, yes! in the matter of apportioning penalties, Elrond could be quite creative.

Several days would pass, however, before Haldir and the twins would have to face judgment, for their return to Imladris was not a swift one. Anomen had gone on the mend from the moment that Glorfindel had tended to Gandalf's shoulder, yet it was still a full week before Elrond deemed him well enough to bear up under a full day's journey. Camp was broken the day after all the Elves had crossed the border into Rohan, but each day's remove was shorter than it would have normally been had Anomen not been ill. Still, everyone—Man, Elf, and wizard—was glad to put any additional distance, however slight, between themselves and the forces of Mordor.

At length the Elves came to the Gap of Rohan and, bidding their Rohirrim escort farewell, commenced to travel through Dunland, and then Eregion, until at last they arrived at the brink of the dell within which sheltered Imladris. Looking down at the welcoming homes, the elflings were glad that the journey was over but apprehensive as to what they would face when they were called to stand before Elrond. They did not have to wait long for that moment. The very morning after their arrival, they were summoned to the library. There they found not only Elrond but also Gandalf, Glorfindel, and Taurmeldir. All looked grim, although, if the elflings had not been so frightened, they might have noticed the twinkle in Gandalf's eye.

Elrond commenced.

"If you were the children of Men," he proclaimed sternly, "I should beat you, and you would go without supper for many a night. But, for good or for ill, you are not the children of Men. How, then, should I punish you?"

The elflings looked nervously at each other. Then Anomen decided that, as he had been the one to set things in motion, he ought to be the one to speak first.

"I despise gluing the fletching upon arrows," he said bravely. "Therefore, I should glue fletching on a thousand arrows. I would hate every moment of it."

"That sounds just," agreed Elrond.

Elrohir came unexpectedly to Anomen's defense.

"A thousand arrows is too many, for Anomen ran away only out of love for Mithrandir. I, on the other hand, had no good motive for running off. I will fletch five hundred of those arrows."

"I am as much to blame as Elrohir," declared Elladan. "I will fletch half my twin's arrows."

"I will fletch half of Anomen's," proclaimed Haldir.

"And what was your offense, Haldir?" said Elrond.

"I allowed myself to be led by Elladan and Elrohir," admitted Haldir sheepishly. "I should have been more forceful and resisted a plan that I knew to be wrong."

"You have all spoken truly," said Elrond. "Very well. Each of you will be responsible for fletching two-hundred and fifty arrows. I shall tell the Head Armorer to expect you at the armory each day after weapons practice until the task has been finished."

The elflings bowed deeply, and Elrond dismissed them. After they had departed the chamber, he gave a relieved sigh.

"Well," he remarked, "I am glad that the issue of punishment has been dealt with."

"Yes, indeed," said Gandalf. "And very cleverly, I must say."

"Ah, you think I handled the matter well."

"I did not say that. Very noble of Elrohir to offer to take on half of Anomen's punishment, wasn't it?"

"Yes, I thought so," replied Elrond, a little puzzled.

"Of course, if he hadn't spoken up so promptly, he would have had his own set of one thousand arrows to fletch, is that not so?"

"Ye-es," said Elrond slowly, the truth dawning on him. He was torn between pride at his son's cleverness and vexation at having been 'had' by the scamp. 'Not for the first time', he thought to himself ruefully, 'and probably not for the last, neither!'

"As I said," Gandalf reiterated, "the matter was handled very cleverly—but not by _you_!"

Glorfindel, Gandalf, and Taurmeldir all smiled at the discomfited elf lord, and Taurmeldir seized the opportunity to gibe him a little himself.

"Elrond," he said with an air of innocence, "don't you think you had better order that the Cobbler make Anomen new boots?"

"New boots?"

"Yes, seeing as how his feet have lately grown so large."

Elrond colored at being reminded that he had mistaken the tracks of one of the older elflings for those of Anomen. Hastily he arose.

"You are quite right," he said to Taurmeldir. "Anomen has walked a very great distance. No doubt his boots are quite worn. In fact, I am sure that the boots of all the elflings must be very badly worn, perhaps even to the extent that their tracks would be indistinguishable one from the other! I believe I shall go look up the Cobbler just now and leave orders that sturdy shoes be made for all four of the wanderers."

With that the great Lord of Imladris fled from the chamber. To their credit, his friends waited until he was gone before indulging themselves in a little laughter at his expense. It was not often that Elrond was bested by the members of his household!

Elrond, however, had not shot all the arrows in his quiver. A few days later, he appeared in the Hall of Fire, where Gandalf was serenely contemplating a cheery blaze as several light-hearted Elves sang in a corner. The Elf lord bore in his hands something that resembled a vambrace.

"I have had this made for you," Elrond said to the wizard. "There was," he added wryly, "leather left over after the Cobbler cut the pieces for the elflings' new boots."

Gandalf looked at it quizzically.

"Rather large for a vambrace, wouldn't you say?"

"It would be," replied Elrond, "if it were for a wrist. But it is not. This, my friend, has been designed for your shoulder—and one shoulder in particular."

"The shoulder I have but lately injured, I presume."

"Yes. I think you will agree, Mithrandir, that you should do your utmost to protect that part of your anatomy."

Gandalf did indeed agree that he needed to take prodigious good care of that particular shoulder, and it is not recorded that he ever again injured it—although practically every other part of his body came in for a beating during the time that remained to him in Middle-earth.

Little now remains to be told of this curious incident in the annals of Imladris. For several weeks the elflings got into no mischief because, when not at lessons, they were entirely occupied at fletching arrows. The time for Haldir's return to Lothlórien arrived before he had fletched his share, but he refused to depart until he had completed the task. Elrond obliged him by sending a message to the Lady Galadriel asking that he might be allowed to remain in Imladris a little longer. Given this gesture on Haldir's part, it is not surprising that the twins became considerably better disposed toward him than they had been upon his arrival in Rivendell. Moreover, upon Haldir's return to his homeland, his fellows amongst the Lórien Elves noticed that he was much less of a 'prig' than he had been before he set out on his adventure. His brothers found to their surprise that they actually liked him. At this development, Galadriel, of course, smiled knowingly. No doubt she had expected something of the sort to happen, and probably without even looking in her mirror.

Haldir wasn't the only one whose behavior altered for the better. Erestor never again discouraged Anomen from speaking of his fears for Gandalf. As for the wizard himself, as I have said, he really did do his best to avoid injuring his shoulder ever again. Yet, for all his efforts, he was once again the cause of great pain to his young friend. Legolas, however, never told Gandalf of this, even though the incident took place when the two were both members of the Fellowship of the Ring. Indeed, he never told any member of the Fellowship save one, and he spoke of the matter only after Gandalf had departed for the West and almost all the other members of the Fellowship had passed on. He chose to tell the tale to the one who yet remained, Gimli Elf-friend, with whom Legolas had traveled throughout Middle-earth after the sundering of the Company. It happened one day that Elf and Dwarf were lying upon the greensward gazing up at the stars.

"I always think of Gandalf when I look up at the stars," murmured Gimli.

"Why so?" asked Legolas.

"They twinkle like his eyes."

"I like that," said Legolas said thoughtfully. "Yes, I like that very much. Henceforth, I, too, shall see Gandalf in the stars. Thank you, Gimli, for that gift."

Gimli harrumphed, as if he needed to clear his throat. When he spoke, he put on his gruffest voice.

"Oh, well, that's all right—I don't mind sharing the notion, especially seeing as how you set such a stock by the old wizard. I never did forget your face after we escaped from Moria. I can see it as we speak: streaked with dirt and smoke it was, but your expression, well, I never want to see such grief ever again on the face of anyone, Man, Elf, or Dwarf. You looked as if a piece of you had died when Gandalf fell into that chasm."

Legolas remained silent for a long time, and Gimli feared that his words had aroused memories that had better have been left dormant. But when Legolas spoke, it was still with the same thoughtful tone. He did not sound distraught or sad.

"Truly, Gimli, I did feel as if a piece of me had died. After Gandalf plunged into the chasm of Moria, at first I felt a burning pain in my forearm and then it grew icy cold. Afterward, my arm went numb, and I believed this a sign that Gandalf had passed from Middle-earth. My arm continued to obey my commands, but I wondered if ever again I would feel sensation in it. Several days later, however, warmth and life returned to the limb. I was grateful to have recovered full enjoyment of my arm, but I also felt renewed sadness, for I was sure this was a sign that the last tie between Gandalf and me had been broken."

"Of course," he continued, growing more animated, "now I know that my arm grew warm again because Gandalf was returning to his body and soon would again walk upon the soil of Middle-earth."

Now it was Gimli's turn to look thoughtful, although he said little, only thanking Legolas for telling him the tale. For a little while longer, the two lay upon the greensward gazing up at the twinkling stars. At length, Gimli judged from Legolas' even breathing that the Elf must have fallen asleep.

"Hard to tell sometimes whether he's sleeping or awake," grumbled Gimli, "given that he so often indulges himself in that odd elvish habit of dreaming with his eyes open."

Cautiously the Dwarf sat up. Legolas made no sign.

"I reckon he _is_ asleep," concluded Gimli. The Dwarf pushed up his sleeve and gazed wonderingly at a birthmark upon his own arm—a birthmark that looked remarkably like the one on Legolas' forearm.

"First burning hot, then icy cold, then numb, but in the end warm again," he muttered. "Yes, that is exactly the way it was! How I should like to see the Lady again and ask her what it must mean, that both Legolas and I should unwittingly have shared those sensations. One thing is certain, though: Elf or no Elf, Legolas is more akin to me than not. Well, then, just let any Troll go after him! The wretched creature will find himself shorter by a head—oh yes! my axe will see to that!"

Having made this resolution, the doughty Dwarf crawled into his bedroll and fell unmistakably into sleep. (Unlike Legolas, the Dwarf snored, so there was never any question as to whether or not he was truly unconscious.) As for Legolas, he had of course not really been asleep, but now, listening to Gimli snore, he began to drift into dreams.

"Gandalf snored," he murmured happily to himself. "Gandalf snored."

Taking comfort in the nearness of the last member of the Fellowship who remained to him, the last of the Nine, the Elf fell at last into sleep. Nothing disturbed him for the remainder of that night—save only the distant cry of gulls. And far away, on the other side of the Sundering Sea, Gandalf heard them too.


End file.
